


Past Tense

by unilocular



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Gen, Tim and Tony Friendship - Freeform, Tony returns to the team, casefic, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unilocular/pseuds/unilocular
Summary: When Tony left the team, he cut ties with Tim. It was entirely Tim's fault, even he admits that. Three years later, Tim has a chance to make it right when Tony returns to DC. Can he fix their friendship? Or is it too far gone? Mild AU from 13x24. General spoilers through season 17. Lots of angst. Mentions of Tiva and Tali. Written for 2020 Reverse Bang on Livejournal.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82
Collections: 2020 NCIS Reverse Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sexycazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexycazzy/gifts).



> I need to start by thanking sexycazzy for her amazing art. Without her creating a piece of art for the Reverse Bang, this story never would have been written. Not only were her original prompt and art completely awesome, she went ahead and made two new banners to accompany this story. It's incredible how she managed to create such beautiful pieces to accompany the story. Thank you so much for all your hard work creating the pieces of art and creating something that got me writing again! 
> 
> Also, thank you to solariana for continuing to run the Big Bang challenges over on LJ. Without them, I probably wouldn't be writing nearly as much as I have been.

It was a nice day. _Was._

To everyone around Tim McGee and Tony DiNozzo, it is a pleasant spring day. The sun hangs high overhead, playing peekaboo with clouds so fluffy they appear to be spun cotton candy. The temperature is cool enough for a light jacket, but warm with the promise of summer. Office workers and federal agents bustle through the tiny patch of grass in front of the NCIS building.

Tim and Tony sit on a wooden park bench, their shoulders barely touching. Though his sportscoat, Tim feels Tony’s body heat radiate at him. That is as present as Tony is. They don’t speak a word. Tim tried a few times when they first arrived, but Tony didn’t even acknowledge him. To Tim, they might as well be on opposite sides of the planet. A sudden breeze chills Tim to the bone. He wraps his arms around his chest, desperately trying to warm himself. Tony doesn’t flinch.

Tim reminds himself how they ended up here. On this park bench, on this beautiful morning after a winter that seemed never ending. It is a view he tends to only enjoy through the breakroom window. He usually spends his five-minute vending machine run, wishing he were down here enjoying the sunshine.

Now, he wishes he were anywhere else.

Their morning started just like any other. Arriving at the office and catching a body before the sun even rose. They doggedly worked their case. Trained Ellie Bishop to her fullest potential. Struggled to stay just one step ahead of a cantankerous Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Everything was going great. Just like always. Tim may even dare to describe their current set-up as _perfect._ He and Tony bounced off each other, supported the other’s strengths and filled in their weaknesses. They worked in a rapid fire tandem only coming from long-term partners. It all came crashing down when the team received word of a fire in an Israeli farmhouse. Their former teammate, Ziva David, was among the dead. As if that wasn’t as life changing as a bullet, the Mossad director arrived with a little girl in tow. Ziva’s daughter, she said.

Tony’s daughter.

The first time he breathed her name to Tim, Tony choked on it.

Tali.

Tony just sat at his desk. Grim-faced and tight-lipped. He murmured, _Tali,_ to himself over and over as though it could be a prayer. As though repeating it could make everything disappear. Tim didn’t understand at first. He stood by his desk, clutching their casefile to his chest, while Tony recounted what happened. To Ziva. To Tali. _To him._

Tim’s brain kickstarted, desperately playing for the right words. But what was there to say when Tim’s closest friend is gasping about how he is a father to an almost three-year-old?

Suddenly, Tony yelled at how he needed air because he couldn’t breathe. Tim dropped the file, loose pages flurrying all over the bullpen. He grabbed Tony’s arm and dragged the gasping, choking man out to the bench in the courtyard. Somewhere in the elevator, Tony mentally checked out. His breathing evened out, his glassy eyes staring dully ahead. Tim still didn’t know what to say.

That’s how they ended up here. On this bench at this odd hour between lunch and quitting time. Just watching the simple lives of those mulling around them. Trying to make sense of the world that was perfect until an hour ago. 

Absently, Tim sips his coffee cup. He ordered shortly after they arrived because he needed a moment to compose his thoughts. He couldn’t think of what to say, but he got coffee. The drink went cold long ago, but it was perfect when he ordered it. Rocket hot, enough caffeine to mirror Gibbs’ brew, and so sweet he’ll have a toothache by bedtime. So rare are the days when the weather, the coffee and the case is perfect. It figures today would be when everything is blown to hell.

Tony shifts his weight. The first sign of life since they arrived at the bench. He presses his hands against his face and shakes his head. When he peers from behind his hands, his mouth is open in a silent scream.

“Tali.” His voice is breathless.

Tim wishes he knew how to react. Wishes he had some magic words that would make everything better. If their situations were reversed, Tony, with that golden tongue of his, would know exactly what to say. Tim wants to follow Tony’s lead, but the older man gives nothing away. He remains motionless, mouth agape and eyes glazed like a shell-shocked war victim.

Tim downs the dredges of his coffee before fiddling with the now empty cup. Silently, he reconsiders his approach. Sitting here and doing nothing can’t be helping. It _can’t_ be.

“How are you feeling, Tony?” Tim asks as lightly as he can.

“Good. Great. Absolutely amazing.” Tony attempts a smile, but it is truly a grimace. “Except for the fact that I have a kid I knew literally _nothing_ about. I missed out on everything for the last two years of her life. Everything, Tim. It’s like that movie, you know the one…” He waves his hand at Tim. For once, Tony’s encyclopedic knowledge of movies fails him.

Tim nods. “Of course, I do.”

A gaggle of women around Gibbs’ age, clad in power suits and running shoes, walk past Tim and Tony. And for a moment, the men are lost in the sea of estrogen. The women’s voices are raucous and lively, brimming with tales of office gossip and family life. Tim recognizes the lady from the armory. Seeing that she caught his eye, she winks at him. He half-smiles and waves. He’ll never tell her that she’s older than his mother because that’s how you end up with the gun that doesn’t shoot straight.

Once they’re alone again, Tim settles back against the bench. He suddenly notices Tony moved farther away. Tony leans forward, elbows against his knees and staring at the ground. 

“Where is she now?” Tim asks.

Tony cocks his head. “Who?”

Tim’s brow furrows. “Tali.”

“Oh yeah, Tali.” Tony inhales slowly. “She is in the director’s office with Vance and Orli. I just saw her and well, I kind of freaked out. I need a few minutes to process everything.”

“It’s been…” Tim checks his watch “…over two hours.”

Tony’s smile is weak. “And I just need a few more. Hours, that is.”

Tim clasps his hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“I’m surprised you never told me about you and Ziva,” he says slowly.

“What do you mean, Tim? We weren’t a couple.” 

Tim decides not to point out the evidence in the director’s office proving the contrary. Even before Tali, the signs were there. The way Tony and Ziva would verbally spar in a way that was more than friendship. At the time, it wasn’t Tim’s business because it never impacted their work. He had his suspicions, but he kept to himself. Though now, there is living and breathing proof in the director’s office.

Tim just raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“You can be honest with me,” Tim says. “I hardly think Rule 12 matters now.”

“I _am,_ Tim. If I was going to break Gibbs’ rules, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been Rule 12.” He considers for a moment. “I’ve always hated Rule 6.”

Shifting to his side, Tim moves to face his friend. Tony remains in profile. He looks up now, his gaze fixed on something across the green. Tim’s eyes slide over Tony’s hardened features.

“I hate to say it, but – ” Tim bites his lip. “ – is Tali even your daughter?”

“I don’t know. I mean, she probably is. The timing works out for when Ziva and I…yeah…” Tony’s voice trails off. He sighs quietly. “It was just one time, Tim. I lost my head one time and two years later _, here’s Tali_!” He draws out the name like _Heeere’s Johnny_ from _The Shining._ “Remember how they used to warn us in sex ed that it only takes one time.” He laughs humorlessly as he rakes his hand through his air. “Apparently, they weren’t lying.”

All Tim has to offer is a sympathetic smile.

“Christ, I’m Ted Danson in _Three Men and a Baby._ I mean, Ted Danson’s not too bad. Though, I’d rather be Tom Selleck, but that leaves you with Steven Guttenberg.” He half-smiles with a shrug. “Sorry.”

Tim has no idea what that means. “That’s okay. I think.”

Tony genuinely laughs. “Of course, it is.”

“Did you care about Ziva?” Tim asks.

“Yeah. That’s probably a good way to explain it.” Tony finally looks at Tim. “I care about you too, Tim. It’s just a little more different and manly. Yeah, that’s a good word for it. Manly. That’s part of why Ziva and I made our arrangement in the field.”

“An arrangement?” Tim questions. 

The color drains from Tony’s cheeks as though he just said something he wasn’t supposed to. He closes his eyes, seemingly unable to believe where the conversation heads. A sinking feeling spreads through Tim’s gut, cold and icy.

“What does that mean?” Tim asks.

Tony shakes his head. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Part of Tim knows he should take Tony’s words at face value. He should just smile, nod and change the subject. They’ve been through so much in the last few hours. Their teammate—the other Musketeer as Abby called them—was dead. Tony discovered he had a kid that he knew nothing about. They are having one hell of a day. He should just let it go. Maybe they’ll discuss it tomorrow or ever. But, for the first time since they met, Tim questions his own teammate.

Tim’s frown deepens. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll assume you and Ziva broke Rule 12.”

“That wasn’t it. It was...”

Tony glances over, the expression on his face makes Tim’s stomach flip-flop. The silence stretches until Tim almost cracks. Tony exhales like a condemned man.

“Ziva and I agreed that…” Tony runs his hand though his hair. “We agreed if an assignment ever went south that we’d get you out first.”

Tim flinches as though Tony just shot him. His body goes rigid, mouth agape and one hand clutching the arm of the bench until his fingers begin to ache. He could have lived with unwittingly being a third wheel to his teammates—he suspected with how Tony and Ziva used to flirt. But his own teammates not believing he was an adequate field agent. Shit, he doesn’t know how to deal with that.

“Wasn’t I good enough to have your six?!” Tim spits out.

“It’s not like that, Tim,” Tony says.

“The hell it isn’t!” Tim barrels onward, the insecurities he hides bubbling to the surface. “Did you guys think I was only good at the computer stuff? Should I only be allowed to deal with hacking and tracing money and pinging cell phones? Should I just stay in the lab with Abby? Did you and Ziva think the geek shouldn’t carry a gun?”

“Jesus, Tim, it wasn’t like that.” Tony’s shoulders slump as he sighs loudly. “It wasn’t like that at all.”

Tim’s eyes harden. “Then what was it is like?”

Tony crosses his arms. “The whole thing was Ziva’s idea. You know how Mossad works, army of one and screw everyone else. She made it _very_ clear that I should have your six because she didn’t need the help.” Tony stares back out at the green, his eyes getting that faraway look again. “I made her promise to get you out before me. I had just lost Kate, Tim. I wasn’t prepared to lose you too.”

Tim’s grip tightens around the bench handle. His knuckles his crack, but he doesn’t feel it. He is too busy trying to make sense of Tony’s confession. He wonders which betrayal would have been worse to him. A resounding vote of no confidence or the possibility of them leaving him behind in a case gone sideways. It doesn’t matter now because they’ll never be in that position again. Hell, it shouldn’t matter at all. None of it should. One of them is dead, the other likely to quit to be a father.

The momentum of the moment still carries Tim forward.

“Didn’t you believe in me?” Tim asks suddenly.

Tony hesitates. His lips apart, eyes widened, gobsmacked. The expression dissipates before it fully settles on his face. It is just a moment, barely a split second. For Tim, it is enough.

He scrambles to his feet. “Why didn’t you trust me in the field, Tony?”

“Tim, I…we…” Another moment to process. Another hesitation. “How can you ask me that?”

Tim jabs his index finger in Tony’s direction. “ _You_ trained me, Tony. _You._ And you didn’t trust me in the field. What does that say about _you_?”

Tim hangs back, thinking Tony might say something to assuage him. To tell him that his deepest, darkest fears weren’t coming true right in front of him. One friend is dead, the other never trusted him. What should have been a great day is turning into a waking nightmare. Their world is falling apart, the team will never be reunited again.

Tony fumbles. His lips move as though forming words, but his gift of gab eludes him. Only a strangled laugh emerges from his mouth. Tears sneak their way down his cheeks. Tim wonders whether they’re having the same terrible dream. Tim just expects him to say _something._ Except Tony doesn’t. He just stares up at Tim as though he can’t believe they’re having this conversation.

Without a second thought, Tim slams his coffee cup into the trash can. He storms back to the NCIS building, snaking his way through the blissfully unaware passerby.

“McGee!”

Tim picks up the pace.

“ _Tim!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**THREE YEARS LATER**

This is the moment Tim hates most. Just a moment. A fleeting moment capable of stretching for minutes, hours, or even days. The moment in an investigation when the teams’ leads run dry and they must wait for the others’ results. Their body, a John Doe between the ages of 35 and 50, is keeping Dr. Jimmy Palmer company. The evidence from the scene is being processed by Kasie Hines in the forensics lab. The witness interviews are supposedly being transcribed by Ellie Bishop and Nick Torres.

However, Tim knows Nick and Ellie aren’t working. The tells are how Nick rapidly clicks at his phone screen and Ellie stares at her computer, eyelids drooping. Nick plays a game while Ellie tries to master the art of sleeping with her eyes open. Tim doesn’t have the heart to call them out. They have their own methods—preferring to transcribe interviews _after_ reviewing the evidence to look for new clues. So now, they are just like him, waiting and waiting and _waiting,_ for _someone_ to give them _something._

With a half-hearted sigh, Tim reviews the crime scene photos. He lost count of how many times he studied them since the team caught the case late last night. They have almost nothing to go on. Just a naked corpse of a middle-aged John Doe left in an open field. Signs consistent with a sexual assault. Scant evidence, no condom, no shell casings, no reliable witnesses. Just a busted slug in the victim’s temporal lobe and a few partial prints on the victim’s upper arm.

While there is every tell-tale sign of a soon-to-be cold case, Leroy Jethro Gibbs expects them to put forth their best effort. A Marine Corps tattoo on the victim’s left forearm acted like a Bat signal for Gibbs, calling him to take the case and expect it solved by dinnertime. Tim hopes for a happy ending, but he isn’t holding his breath. It won’t be long before the director forces Gibbs to “divert his resources elsewhere?” 72 hours, Tim decides. Give or take a few hours.

Suddenly, a shrill ring cuts through the bullpen. Tim swivels away from the photos, but the ringing isn’t from his desk.

Snapping to life, Ellie snatches up her phone. “Bishop.”

Her expression turns confused when another ring echoes. That’s when Tim notices Nick frowning at his cell phone. Nick glares at the device.

“I’ll never get those pigs now,” he grumbles. 

Tim blinks incredulously. “What?”

“He still plays Angry Birds,” Ellie grins. “Even though, it is _so_ last decade.” 

Nick makes a face at her. “It’s a great – “ Another ring. “ – tool for training your spatial recognition skills. Totally helps at the range.” Another ring.

“Torres, that’s great.” Tim motions at him. “Use your spatial recognition skills and answer the phone.”

Nick grins sheepishly as he accepts the call. “Torres…oh hey, Palmer.”

Leaning forward on his elbows, Tim listens hungrily. He channels his inner-Gibbs, trying to force the universe to cough up some secrets of his case. They just need a scrap of a lead and they will turn that into an identity and banking records and a residence. If they get enough, they might just wrap this case up early enough for him to put the twins to bed.

_Somebody give me something. Anything._

Frowning, Nick stands. “Yeah, I’ll be right down.”

Tim is already on his feet. “I got it, Torres.”

Nick ends the call. “I don’t think so, McGee.”

Tim stops short when they meet in the pathway between the desks. Tim towers over Nick, but the younger man possesses the self-assured swagger of a fighter. The fabric of his long-sleeved T-shirt clings to his muscles, hinting at what is underneath. Tim is convinced Nick buys his shirts one size too small to them off. Nick crosses his arms, his clenching biceps clearly visible.

_Two sizes. It must be two sizes._

Tim raises his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Palmer dropped the body on the floor. He needs help putting it back on the gurney. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but if you’re volunteering…” Nick holds his hand out to gesture to the hallway.

Tim recoils. “Do I want to know?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Definitely not.”

“Have fun,” Ellie says with a little smirk and a wave.

Nick lasers a death glare at her before heading toward the elevator. Once Nick is gone, Tim retreats to his desk. He settles back into his chair, absently clicking through the photos again. Still a John Doe, still dead from a bullet in the brain. Even though he just dropped off the evidence an hour ago, he still thought Kasie would have called by now.

He absently scrubs his forehead. Sighs.

_Maybe Delilah is right. I’ve been working with Gibbs for way too long._

Tim still decides to check with Kasie because that’s what Gibbs would do. Check early and check often, just in case. He calls the forensics lab. It barely rings before Kasie Hines answers.

“ _Forensics lab_ ,” she trills, voice as sweet as pie and honey.

She goes dead silent as she waits for him to talk. Even after all these years, he half-expects goth rock to come pumping out of the other end. The dead silence is almost too much for him.

“ _McGee_ ,” Kasie says, “ _I know it’s you. I’ve got caller id. If you want to prank me, try again. I always fall for the ‘is your refrigerator running?’ line.”_

He chuckles. “Then, you better go catch it.”

_“Too bad I’m over marathon training. Do you have an ID for me?”_

Pressing his hands to his eyes, he cringes inwardly. “Actually, I was hoping you had something for me.”

 _“Dang. Gibbs was here like ten minutes ago. I didn’t have anything then and I still don’t.”_ She clears her throat. “ _I kinda thought you were the patient type, McGee.”_

He stares at a picture of Delilah and the twins. “I usually am. Just not today.”

 _“You know, Gibbs said the exact same thing.”_ A beeping starts on the other end. _“Oh look, I just got a hit on the partial print. I didn’t get a chance to review it, but – “  
_

“Send it up. Thanks.”

_“Sure. I’ll call when I have more.”_

She hangs up before Tim can ask for anything else. Sighing, he replaces the phone on the receiver. Maybe the case might be easier than he originally thought. Maybe they must just be able to close this one after all. An ID from the partial print might lead to a suspect before Gibbs even returns from his hourly coffee run. Tim opens his e-mail, ready to hit reload until Kasie’s message appears.

Ellie perks up. “What did Kasie have?”

“An ID from the partial,” Tim says optimistically.

Ellie’s eyebrows jump. “It figures we hit a break when Torres leaves. He always misses the good stuff.”

“Well, I’m not telling him.”

Ellie’s grin is wicked. “No, let me.”

Seconds later, Kasie’s e-mail arrives. As he skims the accompanying attachment, Tim’s heart sinks. Instead of the name and driver’s license photo he expected, there is a fifteen-year-old cold case file. The partial print is linked to the perpetrator of another murder. He quickly reviews it. Forty-two-year old Mark Devers took a 0.38 hollow point to the back of his head. His nude body was found two days after the murder in an open field. He was sexually assaulted, but no fluids or condom were recovered. No witnesses, no evidence other than a few partials prints on the body. Abby Scuito postulated in her report that a non-military issue Smith and Wesson Model 10 was the murder weapon. The case report jogs something in him, but he can’t quite place it. He freezes, finger hovering over the computer mouse, as the signatures of the investigating agents. 

Timothy McGee, SFA.

A. DiNozzo, SAC.

_That was my case. What the…_

Tim closes his eyes as though he could delve into a long, lost past. Back to that summer when Gibbs retired for the first time. Back to when Tony was at the helm and Tim as the second in command. It is buried somewhere deep beneath his recent history: Delilah and the twins, Gibbs and Paraguay, teammates old and new. No matter how hard he tries, Tim just can’t remember a three-day long cold case from fifteen years ago. Right around that time, Gibbs returned and knocked the whole world upside down. That’s all he can remember. How everything changed when Gibbs came back.

He exhales sharply.

“That can’t be good.” Ellie’s voice carries from somewhere between the distant past and present.

Tim loads the information to the plasma. Ellie stands to read the small print on the screen. She places her hands on her hips, making little _huh_ noises while she reads.

She swivels to look at him. “It’s your case.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s my signature.”

“Do you remember it?” she asks.

Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head.

Ellie turns back to the plasma. She makes another _huh_ noise. They have worked together long enough Tim can read her mind. Partners tend to develop a kind of ESP. At least, Tim likes to think they do. She takes a breath, but he already knows what she is about to ask. Tim feels himself bristle.

“Do you think he might remember?” she asks anyway.

“Who?” He is trying to buy time and she _knows_ it.

Her eyes harden. “Tony.”

Tim’s stomach churns at the thought. Sure, he and Tony always had a tumultuous relationship. From hazing frat boy to contentious mentor to constantly squabbling friends, Tony was them all and then some. And yet, somehow everything fell apart and now, they don’t even speak to each other. How is Tim supposed to call his former teammate for help? How can he after everything?

He remains quiet, frozen and still. Maybe if he ignores the question, Ellie will lose interest and come up with a better idea. Instead, she slips closer to Tim’s desk. She leans forward, hands flat against the desk. She comes close to invading Tim’s personal space. It is something that makes his skin crawl after Paraguay. She knows how much it bothers him, but she must be trying to get his attention. It is working.

Her face is sympathetic, her eyes earnest.

“What happened between you two?” She drops her voice to barely a whisper. “You used to be close.”

“After Ziva died, we had a fight. It was my fault, but I don’t even know how it started. He left without saying goodbye. I called him a few times, but he never responded. Eventually, he changed his cell phone number. Heck, I didn’t even know that he and Tali moved to Paris until Abby told me.”

Ellie flinches. She swivels to look at the plasma.

Tim tilts his head. “What?”

“Tony hasn’t lived in Paris for a long time.” Ellie keeps her back to Tim. “He rejoined NCIS two years ago. He works at SABTP in Georgia. Gibbs and I just saw him at that case in Brunswick.” Tim doesn’t know how to respond, so she keeps going. “Remember when you had the flu and stayed home? He’s doing well. He seems really happy.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Tim says flatly.

She doesn’t respond.

“Is there anything else?” he asks.

“Remember when Gibbs took the refresher on regulations when you two got back from Paraguay?” When Tim shrugs, she taps her forehead. “I think you were on medical leave. Anyway, Tony taught it.”

Tim’s mouth drops. He never thought Tony could leave law enforcement forever. Cops and feds, Tony always said, were better off dead than retired. Tim just thought…he just figured someone would have told him, especially since Ellie acted as though it was a not-so-secret secret. It wasn’t like Tim ever searched Tony on social media or Google. After Tony ignored all his calls and e-mails, Tim was smart enough to take the hint. Sure, Tony occasionally appears on Tim’s _People You Might Know_ on Facebook, but he never clicked on the profile. He always tried to respect Tony’s wish to leave Tim for dead too. At least, Tim told himself, Tony appeared happy in every picture he saw. Happy without the team, happy without Gibbs, happy without Tim. It wasn’t that Tim didn’t want to know about Tony’s life. He just knew Tony wouldn’t want him poking around in a place he didn’t belong anymore.

His brain is still trying to process the information—apparently, everyone knew Tony was back at NCIS—when the elevator doors open.

Nick’s voice, ranting and raving, appears before he does. “…better hope I’ve got other shoes in my desk. Does even know how much these boots cost? If he did, he wouldn’t be throwing dead bodies at me. I can’t believe…” His rants turn more colorful as he mutters to himself.

Turning to face him, Ellie wears a bemused smile. Tim tries to force his feelings back down before turning his face unreadable. He only manages to frown.

Nick continues to his desk, unaware he is being watched. Every step comes with a sickening squelch. A second later, the smell hits. Pungent, ammonia and rot with a hint of coconut. Tim wonders whether that’s what death on a tropical island would smell like.

_Tropical death._

Ellie pinches her nose with her fingers. “Why do you reek, Torres?”

“Palmer kept saying the dead guy was slippery and then, he chucked the guy at my boots. My brand-new boots.” Brimming with righteous anger, Nick slams into his desk chair. He removes his boots with a _squick_ and throw them on the floor with a flourish. He rips his lower desk drawer open to produce him gym sneakers. “Now, I have to wear sneakers. Who wears sneakers to a crime scene anyway?”

“Ducky. Palmer.” Ellie keeps count with the fingers of her free hand. “Sometimes, Gibbs.”

“Good for them,” he says. “But _I_ wouldn’t be caught dead in them at a crime scene.”

Ellie and Tim share a glance. The irony is lost on Nick because he keeps ranting about his sneakers. Ellie purses her lips, obviously trying not to laugh. Tim allows himself a small smile.

“That’s not what I meant.” Suddenly, Nick narrows his eyes to study Tim and Ellie. “Did you guys get something and not tell me?”

Tim shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Nick double-checks with Ellie, but she follows Tim’s lead. Nick stares her down, obviously waiting for her to spill her guts. She covertly clicks the plasma remote on Tim’s desk. The screen switches from the case report to the ZNN mid-day broadcast. When Ellie doesn’t fold, Nick sighs quietly and goes to put on his sneakers. As soon as his hands touch his socks, his face twists in horror.

“Argh! Those boots weren’t waterproof!”


	3. Chapter 3

Tim doesn’t have a chance to speak to Ellie about their discovery. Nick’s boot fiasco turns out to be a biohazard situation. His boots and socks are confiscated and destroyed while he is escorted to the hazmat showers in the basement. Gibbs swoops by the bullpen long enough to tell Tim and Ellie about a possible witness. When he learns about Nick’s situation, Gibbs just squints and asks, “What’s OHSA again, Tim?” Gibbs and Ellie leave to interview the witness, abandoning Tim to fill out the mountain of exposure paperwork and trying to remember the team’s last OHSA update.

That night, Ellie catches Tim in the elevator. The doors barely close before she punches the emergency stop button. She stares Tim down, but he won’t look at her. He merely watches her silhouette in the polished elevators doors. She is a caricature of long, blonde hair and fleece collared jean jacket.

Ever since Paraguay, Tim hates enclosed spaces. The elevator is a suffocating, metal prison just like that damned boat he lost two months in. He might as well be back in that hellhole. Panic edges closer, his hand tightens around his backpack strap.

_I knew I should have taken the stairs._

“We need to call Tony.” Ellie’s voice is more forceful than Tim is accustomed to.

“I can remember the case details.” He squeezes the strap in his hands. “I need a day. Two, tops.”

“We don’t have days, McGee. What if this guy strikes again?”

He pushes a breath through his teeth. The air is growing so thick he can barely breathe. The dull alarm whirrs away in the background, creating a sympathetic pound through his entire body. His knuckles are white against his bag strap by now. He is trying to think about anything other than the walls closing around him. How is he supposed to face Tony after all this time?

“I – uh, I know. I know.” He can’t focus. He needs to escape. “I know.”

Tim reaches around Ellie to hit the Emergency button. The alarm’s dull ringing cuts out, the lights return to normal as the elevator car lurches to life. He still can’t breathe. He shifts the backpack until he hugs it tight against his chest. He might rip the backpack in half if he isn’t careful.

As soon as the elevator doors open, the cool night air embraces him. He stumbles out of the car, thankful to be on dry land again and swearing he’ll only take the stairs.

He looks over his shoulder at Ellie. She stands, arms crossed and wearing a disappointed look on her face. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she was losing respect for him. Like when you realize your childhood hero is merely a human, as broken and as fucked up as you are.

“It’s just Tony,” Ellie says. “He was your friend.”

“Until I screwed everything up,” Tim replies. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me. He made that perfectly clear when he _changed his number and didn’t tell me_.”

Ellie just shakes her head, not saying a word as the doors glide closed.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Tony DiNozzo should have been in bed hours ago. Instead, he is finishing up a first grader’s school project that is due first thing tomorrow morning. Something as innocuous as a family tree should not create a firestorm in his house. In the end, it wasn’t worth upsetting Tali when she started asking questions about her family history. So here he is, at just after o’dark thirty, pounding back coffee and constructing Tali’s family tree alone.

The tree trunk is fashioned from an old paper towel tube, the branches from wire brushes Tony unearthed at the gun range. He hastily cuts out a picture of his dad, tapes a piece of fishing line to the back, and hangs it from a branch. He smiles at the creation. His middle school art teacher would say it aspired for mediocrity, but he can’t help feeling proud. A small photo of Tali is taped to the trunk. A single, old picture of Ziva hangs on the left while numerous photos of Tony and his parents dominate the right. While Tali’s maternal side is scant, Tony doubts many pictures of Ziva’s family are declassified.

Tony picks up another picture of himself. Something old from his agent days with his smart suits and hair dripping with mousse. He rubs his thumb across the photo.

_I’ve changed a little._

He shifts his weight, feeling the material of his jeans rub against his thigh.

_Okay, maybe a lot._

He attaches a piece of fishing line to the picture.

Suddenly, his cell phone rings. He hasn’t had a phone call this late since leaving Team Gibbs. Lately, he tends to keep banker’s hours. He doesn’t check the caller ID.

“DiNozzo,” he answers.

_“Tony, uh, hi.”_ Instantly, he recognizes Ellie’s voice. _“I didn’t actually expect you to answer. What are you doing up so late?”_

“I’m building a tree for a school project. Very exciting.” He chuckles at his current situation. “Though, I doubt you called to ask about it. Are you calling to talk about my last movie recommendation?”

There is a smile in her voice. _“Maybe.”_

“The secret’s in the sauce.”

_“Huh?_ ”

Tony applies more tape to the back of his picture. “Now, I know it’s definitely not about a movie. If you’d watched _Fried Green Tomatoes_ like I suggested _,_ you would’ve gotten that one.”

Ellie’s laugh comes over the line. _“Guilty as charged. I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet.”_

“What’s going on? You wouldn’t call this late unless it was important.” Tony ties his picture on a random tree branch. It ends up facedown on the table because he used too much fishing line. He frowns at it.

_“Do you remember the Mark Devers case from 2004?”_

“Mark Devers.” Tony’s frown deepens. “Not quite. Can you give me more to go on?”

_“He was found in a field. Naked, sexually assaulted, bullet to the back of the head. The case went cold after a few weeks. Does any of that ring a bell?”_ Ellie pauses while Tony wracks his brain. _“You were acting SAC at the time.”_

Tony closes his eyes, struggling to remember. As SFA and acting SAC, he ran more cases than he can count. Most of them involved murders by firearms and bodies were usually left in fields and parks. The case going cold was unusual, but no one in law enforcement bats a thousand.

“It’s not ringing any bells. Though if I was acting SAC, that would mean McGee was acting SFA. Did you try asking him?”

_“He doesn’t remember anything, but he won’t admit it.”_ She sighs. _“We could use some help. We have another body with a partial print that matches the one found at Devers’ scene. The cases are nearly identical so far. It looks like it might be the same killer.”_

“So Devers might not have been a one-off. We probably worked it as a known assailant instead of a random act of violence.” Even though he doesn’t remember the case, it still intrigues him. Tony stands from his chair to pace around the tight kitchen. “It could be a serial killer who moved to a different location for a while.”

Ellie sounds like she is walking too. _“That’s a great idea. Hence why we could use your help.”_

Tony starts, “I have class to – “

_“I’m not sure if that matters. Gibbs is already clearing TAD for you with Vance.”_ She sighs again. _“Sorry for you to find out like this. Gibbs should be calling soon. I wanted to give you a heads’ up.”_

“Yeah, thanks.” He chews at the inside of his cheek. “You got lucky. My dad just got back from Geneva, so he’ll be able to stay with Tali.”

He pauses to pluck a bowl out of the drying rack. Absently, he shakes off the remaining water. It splatters all over the counter, the cabinets, the floor. He barely feels the cold droplets on his forearm. His mind is fixated at the prospect of returning to the team, even for a short time. After the way things ended with Tim, he would rather take another agent afloat deployment. Maybe he could ask Vance for yet another reassignment. Though, he is running out of places to move to. DC to Paris with two short stints in California before settling down in Georgia for the long haul.

Ellie seems to read his mind. _“I think McGee will be happy to see you.”_

Tony bites back a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The last time he saw Tim, it was the back of his head as he stalked across the NCIS lawn. Somehow, an admission that Tony cared about someone other than himself had blown up in his face. People always joked he was incapable of anything other than shallowness. And yet, when he did something with depth, the same people just didn’t understand. 

Tony’s phone beeps with another call. Gibbs.

“I’ve got to go, Bish,” he says. “Gibbs is calling. It looks like I’ll see you soon.”

_“I can’t wait Tony.”_ She sounds as though she means it. _“Just try to think about the case, okay?”_

“On it.” He ends the call without saying goodbye.

Staring at the phone screen, he takes a deep breath. The phone is still ringing in his hand, but he knows he doesn’t have to answer it. He could just ignore it. He isn’t part of the team anymore. The rules—in this case, Rule 3—don’t apply to him anymore. The phone rings again.

_I could just let it go to voicemail._

The call ends before the ringing starts up again.

Tony presses his hand to his face. Curses his sense of duty and honor to a badge that’s all for show now. Rages against the power Gibbs still holds over him. Seethes at the thought of having to deal with the situation with Tim. Hates he still feels like a part of the team after all these years.

He answers, “DiNozzo.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sitting at his desk, Tim stares disinterestedly at the cold case images on his computer screen. It is almost 0900, but he arrived before daybreak. He tossed and turned in bed until Delilah asked him what was wrong. He told her about the case, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain how it connected to Tony. She often asks about their “oldest friend and newest landlord,” but Tim just smiles and changes the subject. He never did tell her their landlord is Anthony DiNozzo, _Senior_ , not Anthony DiNozzo, _Junior_. Unable to take her questions, Tim feigned a call from Gibbs and fled to the office at 0430.

His teammates arrived at some point. He didn’t bother to check the time when they did. He greeted each of them with a distracted wave and not even bothering to look up. Gibbs first, because Gibbs always arrives first. Then, Ellie and Nick together. He already learned not to ask because it is none of his business what they do in their off hours.

He is wrapped up in trying to recall key details from the Devers case. Instead, Tim only manages to remember what it was like that summer. With Tony at the lead and Tim as his right-hand man, the once delicate balance was upended. At the time, Tim struggled with his former friend in an unfamiliar position of authority. One day, they were equals and the next, nothing remotely close. Tim made Tony’s job more difficult, though not entirely on purpose. Tim thought it was part of the SFA’s job. He watched Tony challenge Gibbs in moments that mattered. Unfortunately, Tim thought too many moments mattered. In the end, they didn’t. Was this case another one of those times?

He rereads Tony’s report. The awkward and outlandish phrasing. The almost constant switch of _then_ and _than._ The subtle movie quote Tim never found in any report, but Tony swore was always there. Tim pauses at the signature. He hasn’t seen it in years, but it makes him surprisingly nostalgic for that time in his life. Everything fit together so easily when he worked with his two closest friends. Back before one died and the other confessed they didn’t trust Tim’s abilities in the field.

Tim closes his eyes. He swears he hears Tony DiNozzo’s voice carry through the bullpen. 

“’ _Of all the gin joints, in all towns, in all the world, she walks into mine’_.”

_Did someone quote Casablanca?_

Acid churns in his stomach.

_No, it can’t be._

Tim’s entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the computer mouse and the plastic squeaks under his fingers. He is terrified to open his eyes because he must be dreaming. While wide awake at his desk. Yeah, that explains it because the only alternative is that he is stark, raving mad. He wouldn’t be surprised if the sleepless nights, caffeine overdoses and baby brain finally caught up with him.

Tony speaks again. “Don’t I get a hello?”

_I really am losing it._

Suddenly, Ellie is squealing at the top of her lungs. “Tony! How did you know I love Casablanca?”

“Everyone loves Casablanca,” Tony says. “Even Gibbs has a soft spot for Bogey, but he won’t tell you.” 

Tim still doesn’t open his eyes. There’s a _whoosh_ of wind against his face as someone rushes past his desk. The scent of Cap’n Crunch, Oreos, and sweet tea. Ellie.

He hears a lively discussion between Ellie and Tony, but he can’t make out the words. He begins to formulate a plan to slip under his desk and double back to the stairwell. Maybe he can make it to autopsy or the forensics lab before they notice. He bets he can –

“McGee.” Ellie clears her throat. “Look who it is.”

_Damn._

Cringing, Tim opens his eyes. He forces the brightest smile he can manage.

Tony DiNozzo stands at the entrance to the bullpen. He looks identical to the day that Tim left him on the bench. His suit is still some designer Tim has never heard of, his hair slicked back, his unbridled self-confidence exuded with every move. Except in the place of his normal shit-eating grin, he sports an uncomfortable grimace. He eyes Tim as though he is uncertain whether they are friends or enemies, as though their decade as partners was erased, as though they are perfect strangers.

Tim chokes out, “Tony…”

“McGee.” Tony’s voice is cutting with no opening for conversation.

Tim was on his way to shake Tony’s hand, but he freezes at the greeting. He balls his hands into fists and shoves them into his pockets. An unsettled feeling knots his gut, taking root as it spreads to his core. Indecision gnaws at him. His mind bounces with everything he could say.

_How have you been, Tony?_

_I’m sorry about what happened between us._

_Does Tali have a favorite movie? Because Morgan and Johnny sure love Frozen_.

Instead, he settles for: “Bishop, a word?”

Ellie quietly apologizes to Tony. All waving hands and placating smiles. He merely shrugs as Tim and Ellie leave the bullpen. They end up in a small alcove by the stairs, a cut out in the floorplan still in the middle of the action with the charade of privacy. Ellie casually leans against the stairwell, Tim keeps his back to the bullpen. He doesn’t need Tony staring him down. 

“I thought you were going to give me a couple of days.” His voice is grating to his own ears.

“I didn’t know it would be such a big deal,” Ellie says.

“A big deal?” Tim chokes out. “Of course, it’s a big deal. It’s a huge deal that…” He soaks up Ellie’s shocked expression. He trails off when he realizes how crazy he must sound right now. “I just could have remembered the case with more time. On my own. We _really_ didn’t need the help.”

She arches her eyebrows. “What exactly happened between you and Tony?”

Tim works his jaw like a spring. He doesn’t want to tell her that he can’t even remember what he said to make Tony despise him. At the time, it was a knee-jerk reaction. The one-two punch of Ziva’s death and Tony’s admission that the team didn’t trust him. The words were spit in the heat of the moment, something he couldn’t take back once they were out. And worse, he didn’t even take a second to _think_ about what he said. He wishes he could take it back. Go back to that moment and do everything over the right way.

“It’s a long story,” Tim whispers.

Suddenly, Ellie’s eyes shift to a point behind him. That familiar sense of dread weighs Tim down like an anchor just a split second before he smells the sawdust, coffee, and wet basement. A whack to the back of his head rattles his brain. He inhales sharply. Stands a little taller.

He side-steps to face Leroy Jethro Gibbs. A firm jerk of Gibbs’ head sends Ellie fleeing without needing to be told twice. Tim moves to follow, but Gibbs herds him back into the alcove. Gibbs crowds into Tim’s personal space. It is a closeness they haven’t shared since Paraguay.

“Tim.”

He meets Gibbs’ eyes.

_“I_ had Tony sent here as TAD,” Gibbs says.

“Ah.” Tim hitches a nod.

“Will your history be a problem?” They shared a lot in Paraguay and Tim and Tony’s past was part of it.

Tim hesitates before answering: “Shouldn’t be, Boss.”

Another whack to the back of Tim’s head. “Work the case.”

“On it.”

Seemingly satisfied by Tim’s reply, Gibbs gives a clipped nod. Then, he stalks to the bullpen. Tim lingers behind to compose himself. He tries to swallow the feeling in his gut, that one telling him he isn’t good enough, that one telling him he never will be. He managed to bury it once, decades ago with a team he trusted and who, he thought, trusted him. He kept the doubt there, locked away and— _almost—_ forgotten, until he discovered Tony didn’t believe in him either.

He scrubs his hands over his face several times. Palms and fingers flat against the wisps of his goatee, massaging the tension from his muscles. He tells himself to get his shit together. Eventually, he pulls his expression into a mask of normalcy.

By the time Tim returns to the bullpen, Nick is back from his second—or is it third?—OHSA refresher course. He is busy studying Tony as though he is an exhibit in a museum. Nick’s eyes sparkle with the wonder of a kid on Christmas morning. Tony raises his eyebrows, confusion and concern washing over his face. If he weren’t so overwhelmed, Tim might just laugh.

“You’re Tony DiNozzo,” Nick whispers, completely starstruck.

Tony cocks his head. “That’s what they tell me.”

“You’re _the_ Tony DiNozzo.”

Slipping behind Tony, Nick moves around him in a circle to appraise him. Tony wrinkles his nose when Nick pops over his other shoulder.

“I think I am.” He makes a show of inspect his suit jacket and forearm. “Though, I might not have survived that last attack from _Invasion of the Body Snatchers._ I don’t feel any different, but that’s probably what they want me to think.”

Nick grins at Ellie. “He did that thing you said he would, Bishop! He quoted a movie.”

Tony shakes his head. “They’re films and I didn’t actually quote it.” 

“Oh!” Nick is on a roll. “Do me! Do me!”

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying. And you’re _really_ not my type.”

Ellie dissolves into giggles while Tim smiles. Tony’s quip even earns a reaction from Gibbs, a wry smile sneaking onto his face. When Nick understands what he asked, he makes a face. His cheeks pinken ever so slightly for a moment before he goes with it.

“Maybe after you buy me dinner,” Nick offers.

“Italian?”

“Sure.” It takes a split-second for everything to sink in. Tony cracks up, shortly before everyone else. Then, Nick is backpedaling: “Wait…what? No, I don’t want a date. I want you to tell me what movie I would be. Bishop says you can pick a movie for any person and tell them what they’re like. You’re like a fortune cookie from Hollywood!”

Tony shoots Ellie a confused glance, but she merely shrugs.

“I said a film quote for every situation, Tony,” Ellie offers.

“What’s mine?” Nick repeats again.

_“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,”_ Tony deadpans.

Nick pushes his hand against his chin, deep in thought. “Hm, never heard of it.”

Tony sighs. “ _’I must be crazy to be in a loony bin like this.”_

Gibbs chooses that moment to break up the introduction. “Feel like that every day, DiNozzo.”

“Hey Gibbs,” Tony says evenly.

“Thanks for coming on short notice.” Gibbs sounds as though he means it.

That’s the signal for everyone to get back to work. Tim rushes back to his desk and brings up the current case. Tony waits by the plasma, arms crossed and lips pressed together in a tight line. He seems uncertain where he should go. Tim offers a friendly smile. Tony looks away. Sighing, Tim opens the file. 

Gibbs clears his throat. The unspoken message is: _Update, McGee_.

And suddenly, all eyes are on Tim.

He is tripping and stumbling over his words. There are no updates on their case since he briefed Gibbs at 0600, 0700 _and_ 0800\. No ID on the victim, no new forensic information, no connection to the cold case, and nothing jogged Tim’s memory. But they haven’t asked Tony yet. So that’s the latest development, they’ll ask Tony what he remembers. 

Gibbs cocks his head as though he expects more.

“We’re working on it, Boss,” Tim says.

Gibbs just sips his coffee without saying a word. Ellie and Nick visibly flinch. Even Tim knows it was a blood bath and he is lucky to emerge with a pulse.

Gibbs’ eyes move away from Tim. “Bishop. Torres.”

“We’ll go back to the crime scene and find what we missed,” Ellie suggests.

“DiNozzo, McGee,” Gibbs says.

Tony jumps right in. “Review the cases and find the connection. On it.”

Gibbs nods. “Impressed you remember, DiNozzo. Use my desk.”

After their orders, Gibbs rushes out of the bullpen. The next person on Gibbs’ hit list—Kasie or Palmer—will be determined by who calls Tim in the next few minutes. Ellie and Nick retrieve their creds and weapons from their desks. Tim would give his left leg to be the one going.

“Hey Tony,” Nick says.

Tony exhales loudly. “Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“I don’t have one,” Tony replies quickly. 

Nick squints at him. “How can _you_ not have a favorite movie?”

“That’d be like you having a favorite girlfriend.”

Nick freezes mid-step. He barks an awkward laugh, eyes flitting dangerously to Ellie. Tony innocently clasps his hands together, smiling at the pair. 

“I – uh, I – ha, um, yeah.” Nick coughs. “Did you know Armani boots aren’t waterproof?”

Tony leans forward. “Huh?”

Barreling into Nick, Ellie shoves him. _Hard._ “Let’s go, Torres.”

She prods him the entire way to the elevator. Nick’s musings about meeting ‘The Great Tony DiNozzo’ carry after them. Once they are gone, Tim sinks into the unwelcoming silence. Tony turns on Gibbs’ computer. The load screen takes forever to appear. Tony mutters to himself about how Gibbs can still run Windows Vista. 

Tim should say something. He _knows_ he should, but he can’t think of the right thing.

He blurts out the first thing to pop into his mind. “Torres likes you.”

“Yeah, it sure seems like it.” Without looking up, Tony nods. “Say, why does NCIS let Gibbs use this old operating system anyway?”

Tim laughs. “Do you think Gibbs actually _uses_ it?”

“Maybe. The computer was for show when I was here too.”

“I patch it when new security updates come out. I had to build an operating system mirror. But as far as Vance knows, that machine runs the same operating system as mine.”

Tony nods again. “Interesting.”

Tim takes their conversation as a welcome sign. “How is Tali?”

“Good. And Delilah and the twins?”

Tim adjusts the brightness on his computer monitor. He needs something to distract himself from how strained their conversation is. And the fact that Tony still won’t look at him.

“Great. How is Georgia?”

Tony clicks at the computer. “Hot and humid in the summer. Tolerable in the winter. But the people are nice, and I really like the job. I should’ve made the switch years before I did.”

Tim starts, “That’s – “

“Look, McGee,” Tony interrupts. “Can we just stop?”

Tim’s eyes snap to Tony, who is finally looking at him. Except nothing about Tony’s expression is inviting or friendly. His worst-case scenario is playing out right before his eyes. He thought he might have a chance to apologize to Tony. Tim leans back in his chair.

“Stop what?” he asks.

“Pretending that we still like each other. Pretending that we’re still friends.”

“We were friends,” Tim chokes out.

Tony nods. “Right, _were_. Past tense.”

“For what it’s worth, Tony. I’m…” Tim gets caught on Rule 6.

Their eyes meet. His hesitation on Rule 6 is just enough for Tony to smile coldly and that kills the apology on Tim’s tongue. Tim smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Let’s just work the case,” Tony says. “Then we can go our separate ways again. It was better that way.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting at Gibbs’ desk again floods Tony DiNozzo with more memories than he expects. Nothing has changed since he took over the space fifteen years ago. No personal effects, no pictures, not even a special pen that Gibbs prefers. The only thing on the surface is a well-used Bic and a computer keyboard from the Reagan administration.

Closing his eyes, Tony remembers more about his time as SAC than he would like to. How it felt to be at the team’s helm. Making day-to-day decisions on how they ran their cases. Knowing just one mistake would be the difference between a murderer landing behind bars or walking around free. The daily pressure from the director, his team, the cases. How quickly it ended when Gibbs returned from retirement like he’d never intended anything more than a vacation.

None of it was easy. He hadn’t expected it to be, _G-damn_ was it hard.

_I never realized how much I loved it._

He sighs to himself. Wistful and contemplative, thinking about the what could have been and what should have been. He could’ve had his own team. Hell, he could’ve had a posting anywhere he wanted. It wasn’t like, first Shepard, and later, Vance, hadn’t offered Tony his own team. It wasn’t like they hadn’t waggled that stick at him, anything to get him somewhere other than DC. There were cross-country postings, overseas postings, afloat postings. Leaving DC—leaving the team—just never felt right until Tali showed up. And even then, it had been Tim’s not-so-gentle reminder than they were nothing more than coworkers—and occasional friends—that told him to go. His family wasn’t a team. Not flesh and blood and bone like his daughter.

Maybe he should thank Tim, in a way, for reminding him that life was what happened outside the bullpen. Tony made up for lost time after Tali showed up. He just never got the feeling of being in the action out from under his skin. Now, it is a gnawing under his skin. A deep yearning to get back to what his life used to be because it gave him such purpose. Just a different purpose than being a father.

_Could I be a field agent and SuperDad?_

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony catches movement by the entrance of the bullpen. He leans to check on the newcomer, full expecting to find Tim trying to slink back to his desk unseen. Instead, it is a case agent with his face buried in a file. When he glances up, his face goes stark white. Seeming to think Tony is Gibbs, he trips over his apology before sprinting away. Tony waves to his retreating form.

Tony wonders where Tim is anyway. Since their earlier conversation, the younger man barely returned to the bullpen after their earlier conversation. He shows up just long enough for an update or to check his desk before disappearing to autopsy or forensics. Tony knows he was a tad harsh—scratch that, a lot harsh—but he wasn’t sure how else to act. After everything that happened between them, Tim still tries to pretend as though everything is fine, fine, _fine._

When it isn’t.

Tony should just let things go. He knows how to. He understands the mechanics of it because he worked on it with his men’s group for years. After everything he has been through in life, he needed to learn how to let things go. But it is so much harder in practice. Sure, he would be the bigger man to shake Tim’s hand and let everything go back to normal. Except Tony still wants to hold out for an apology because he knows he deserves one. Those two magic words. _I’m sorry._ Rule 6 be damned.

Tony knows he’ll say something to Tim before he heads back to Georgia. Exactly what it will be remains to be seen because he can’t figure out what to say. A lot of things changed in the last three years. Tony doesn’t think it’s fair to leave without at least saying something. Even if it is just a goodbye

He’ll deal with it later.

Tony turns his back to the laptop on Gibbs’ desk. He requisitioned it from IT because he couldn’t figure out how to use Gibbs’ desktop and Tim wasn’t around. He clicks through the cold case file again, but nothing jumps out at him. That’s his signature at the bottom, but he’ll be damned if he can remember anything about their victim. Momentarily, he feels guilty. A man lived an entire life before meeting a violent, horrific end and Tony can’t recall anything about it. Though after the body count he has witnessed, Tony hates to think about how many are just like him.

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls Tony from his mind. He glances up to find Tim standing by the entrance to the bullpen.

“Got anything?” Tim asks.

Tony frowns. “Nada. How about you?”

Tim shakes his head sadly. “Where is everyone?”

“Torres and Bishop went back to the scene and Gibbs – “ Tony’s eyes flick towards the director’s office “ – is still with Vance. He’s been up there a lot. Do you know what’s going on?” 

Tim half-shrugs. “No idea.”

They wait in silence for a long moment while Tim awkwardly fingers the hem of his jacket. His eyes are wide and haggard, his face drawn. Tony leans his elbow on the desk, props his head on his hand. He desperately wants to ask where they went wrong, but he can’t find the words. Tim appears to be at the point of nearly unraveling in front of him. He never had a poker face.

Tim gives a clipped nod. “Right. I just came back to get – “ he darts to his desk and grabs what appears to be a useless HDMI cable “ – this. I’ll be autopsy.”

And with that, he darts out of the bullpen. Tony watches the back of Tim’s jacket retreat to the stairwell. He scrubs his hand across his face, unable to stop wondering whether their situation could become anymore awkward or uncomfortable.

_Maybe I should’ve stayed in Georgia._

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

The team works the case for two days straight with no leads, no breaks, and no parallels between the cold and current one. Tim postulates that is why Gibbs has been MIA. His plan is to distract Vance long enough for them to solve their case. Except, it isn’t working.

Tony, Ellie, and Nick toil away in the bullpen. Tim plays Gibbs and haunts the space between the forensics lab and autopsy. Whenever he stops for an update, Ellie and Nick just shake their heads. Tony replies with curt, one-word answers.

Taking the hint, Tim retreats to autopsy with his laptop. He sits at Ducky’s desk, half-skimming his old report for the umpteenth time and half-watching Dr. Jimmy Palmer redo their autopsy. Retracting a piece of John Doe’s chest, Palmer plunges his hand into the corpse’s abdomen with a resounding _squish._ Tim gags into the back of his hand. Palmer chuckles.

“Getting squeamish, Tim?” Palmer asks. “You’ll have to come visit more often.”

Tim laughs. “I don’t usually watch the magic happen.”

Palmer glances up, the surgical lights leave halos on his glasses. “To what do I owe the pleasure today.”

“I just figured you could use the company since Ducky isn’t here.”

Palmer nods, unconvinced. He removes a chunk of flesh—liver, Tim thinks—and plops it onto a scale. He makes a notation, replaces the organ, and extracts something else. Tim’s eyes wander back to the safety of his computer screen. Printed words don’t leave him with the danger of losing his lunch.

“Could it have something to do with Tony being back?” Palmer muses.

Tim’s entire body tenses. He closes his eyes momentarily, exhales through his teeth.

“Ah, I figured it might.” There’s another _squish._ Tim doesn’t look. “Weren’t you and Tony friends?”

Tim half-shrugs. “If you consider grabbing a drink after work and movie nights, then yes.”

“That would be what friends do together. Tony and I spent many a night watching a classic film with a nice Scotch.” He sounds so much like Ducky that it unnerves Tim.

“Next, you’ll probably tell me that you knew he was in Georgia too.”

Palmer’s face flushes above the mask. “Our last family vacation down there to visit the beach. Victoria and Tali were like best friends. They still write each other letters.”

That piece of information digs into Tim. He thought, out of everyone, _Palmer_ would have told him about Tony. Tim crosses his arms, leans back with a sigh. Underneath him, the chair echoes the sentiment.

“Have you two talked?” Palmer asks.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t mention it was only about the case. 

Palmer looks up again. “What happened between you two?”

And Tim doesn’t blame Palmer for prying. He likely doesn’t have anything interesting happening down here other than the corpses to keep him company. Without Ducky here and only the dead to talk to, Tim believes Palmer is slowly forgetting the social graces that come from dealing with the living.

“It’s a long story,” Tim replies flatly.

Palmer nods. “I’ve got plenty of time. Plus, I’m sure my friend here would like to hear about something other than Victoria’s dance class.” He clasps his hand on the corpse’s shoulder and says conspiratorially, “There are a lot of girls vying for that dance solo. Like Brittany, Alyssa, and Eloise.” He says the names with more vitriol than Tim expects. “I’m telling you Miss Monique’s Dream Dance Studio is worse than a soap opera. Kindergartners can be vicious. Someone stole Victoria’s tap shoes and ripped her tights. We suspect Eloise, but we can’t prove it.”

“That sounds like it’ll be our next case.”

“I don’t think even Gibbs could crack these girls,” Palmer says with a shudder.

Smiling, Tim doubts it’s really _that_ bad. “I can’t wait until Morgan gets older.” 

“Now, you understand why our friend here wouldn’t mind hearing about you and Tony.”

Tim remains quiet.

“Except that you don’t feel like talking about it,” Palmer says. “Okay, I get it.” 

Tim nods as though to say _Bingo!_ Palmer mutters something to the corpse that sounds like _They just need to talk it out and everything’ll be fine._ Before Tim can formulate a reply, Palmer removes his hand from the corpse’s shoulder. He stares at his glove. He rolls his fingers around as though there is something there. From his vantage point, Tim doesn’t see anything. Behind his mask, it appears to be frowning. He moves to deglove, but Tim scrambles to his feet.

“Palmer, wait,” he says.

Palmer pauses while Tim closes the distance to the autopsy table. Right by the slab, Tim’s shoes nearly slide out from under him. He steadies himself—without touching the autopsy table, thank G-d.

“What’s wrong with your glove?” Tim asks.

Palmer holds out his hand. Tim puts on a glove. Then grabs Palmer’s gowned wrist, turning his hand underneath the surgical lights. The glove reflects the light back at them. Tim turns to the corpse, who can only be described as gleaming.

“Why is he sparkly?” Tim asks.

“Well, he definitely isn’t a vampire,” Palmer replies. “I already checked.”

Tim just stares at him.

“ _Twilight?_ Edward and Bella.” Palmer shrugs. “I didn’t see the movies, but I read the books.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Palmer sighs and murmurs, “Team Jacob.”

Tim gestures back to the body. “Okay, not sparkly. Then, why is he shiny?”

“At first, I thought it was due to a skin condition that caused an excessive amount of oil production. Sebaceous glands can occasionally become hyperactive and – “ When Tim clears his throat, Palmer glances back to his hand. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Ya think?” Tim frowns at the substance. “It looks like baby oil, but that isn’t it.”

Palmer squints at Tim. “Bodybuilding lotion, maybe?”

Tim looks at him questioningly.

Palmer laughs behind the mask. “I had a life before med school, you know.”

“I _really_ don’t want to know.”

Tim’s eyes slip back John Doe, who is anything but a bodybuilder. On the wrong side of forty. Overweight. Short. Not a definite muscle group identifiable on his entire body. A definite spare tire wrapped around his thick midsection.

“Why would someone grease up our dead guy?” Tim muses.

“That’s above my pay grade, McGee. I’ll get these samples ready for Kasie and recheck for anything else I might have missed.” Palmer gathers slides and sample vials. “But the why, that’s your job.”


	6. Chapter 6

Early the following morning, Tim works at his desk. The rest of the team—and Tony—are hard at work too. Tim keeps a careful eye on his former friend, but Tony just ignores his presence entirely. Tim doubts Gibbs would listen to his argument about a “hostile work environment.” Hell, Gibbs is usually the one creating the hostile work environment. He’d probably give Tony a pat on the back for contributing.

Tim decides to rerun the facial recognition software on the team’s John Doe. He expands the parameters to expand the age and geographical range to tristate area. As soon as he hits search button, his desk phone rings.

_Oh, thank G-d._

“McGee,” he answers.

_“Heya, it’s Kasie Hines.”_ An awkward pause. “ _You know, Kasie from the forensics lab.”_

Tim barely contains his smile. “Yeah, I know. Hi Kasie. Is your refrigerator running?”

_“Aha, McGee. You didn’t do a lot of prank phone calls, did you?”_

“Not as many as I should have.” He laughs. “What do you have?”

_“Well, I ran a search on the substance on the body. It’s – “_

“I’m on my way,” Tim interrupts, already out of his seat.

_“I’ll save you a trip, McGee.”_ Perplexed, he sits back down. _“The substance was a bodybuilding oil made by a company called_ Perfect Abs. _They were in business for about 20 years before they fell on hard times and closed two years ago.”_

Tim frowns. “Huh. So our killer is using an expired product?”

_“Yeah, but I doubt John Doe cares. I mean, he’s dead.”_ Kasie barks a laugh. “ _Anyway, this particular product is called ‘Go Coconuts.’”_ Tim can hear the air quotes. _“There is one online retailer,_ Out of Body Experiences, _still selling it. They’re located in Southwest. I’ll send you the address.”_

“Nice work, Kasie. Anything else?”

_“I checked on the new samples Palmer sent. Still no trace evidence from the sexual assault, but you already knew that.”_

“Ah, that’s not what we were hoping for. Can you – “

_“Catch Gibbs up to speed? Of course, he’s on his way. I can feel it in my bones.”_

He laughs. “Sure, thanks.”

Tim replaces the phone on the receiver. For the first time, he notices three pairs of questioning eyes watching him. He gestures at the phone, trying to figure out who to choose for the field trip. _Eenie, meenie, miney, mo._ He settles on Tony because being stuck in close quarters with the man he once considered a friend might allow for conversation. At best, they might be forced to talk to each other. And _that,_ might give Tim a chance to apologize. At worst, it would be like more awkward silence and dancing around each other.

“Tony.” Tim’s voice vanishes at the look on Tony’s face.

Anger. Annoyance. Derision. No emotion Tim could associate with Tony. Losing his nerve, Tim swallows down his original thoughts. He looks away.

“Tony, sorry to drag you up here,” he mumbles. “Kasie found something, so your trip might not have been necessary. Alright, Bishop. Let’s go.”

Tony shrugs as though to say _Oh well_ and turns back to his computer. Torres’ face twists, clearly offended to be left behind. Ellie grins and Tim swears she adds a, “Nah, nah, nah,” as they ready to leave. Tim and Ellie grab their creds and weapons before heading to the garage. They requisition an agency Charger and head for Southwest.

Kasie’s coordinates lead them into the heart of Southwest, one block over from the waterfront. The landscape is bleak and foreboding, bordering on post-apocalyptic. Squat warehouses, built like linebackers, stand along the deserted city street. Most of them are abandoned looking concrete fortresses. Tim pulls the Charger into a parking lot behind their intended target. The only indication that the space is used, unlike so many buildings on the street, is the number of cars in the parking lot. Tim chooses an empty space far from the loading zone.

He climbs out of the car, taking a moment to inhale deeply. The cold air teems with salt spray and damp. They must be closer to the ocean than he thought. He jerks his coat closer.

Ellie climbs out of the passenger side. When she slams the door, it jars Tim back to life.

“What are we looking for, McGee?” she asks.

He eyes the loading dock. “According to Kasie, this is the only place still selling the body oil that our killer used. Hopefully, we can get a list of buyers and we’ll find our killer.”

“That would be nice,” she says. 

“After how it’s been going, I wouldn’t complain.”

They cross the parking lot to reach the loading dock. A lone worker moves a pile of boxes from one end of the dock to the other. Then, back again. The boxes all look the same and if Tim didn’t know better, he would swear the man just moved the same set back to its original location. As soon as he notices them, the man draws to his full height. He is taller than Tim and solid, his body thick with muscles. He is older, likely close to Gibbs’ age, with salt and pepper hair and a few day-old beard on his chin. His skin is that tanned leather consistency from spending too much time on the beach without sunscreen.

“Can I help you?” He doesn’t sound like he means it.

Tim forces a smile as he produces his creds. “NCIS Special Agents McGee and Bishop. We need to speak to someone regarding a product this company sells.”

“That’d be me. I load ‘em all.” He gestures at an endless sea of boxes. “In and out.”

Tim checks his notepad. “We’re looking for a product called _Go Coconuts_ by _Perfect Abs.”_

The man’s eyes widen in recognition, a moment’s hesitation. Then, he places his hand on his stomach and grins. “I haven’t seen them in years.”

Ellies laugh at the joke while Tim makes a notation in his notepad. The hesitation is a dead giveaway. They are in the right place. The man moves a box aside.

“Why are you looking for that anyway?” he asks.

“It came up during a case,” Tim offers. “Can you tell us anything about it?”

The man runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “What is there to say? It was a huge hit. One of the biggest ones we’ve ever stocked. In fact, it was one of our best sellers until the company went belly-up. We had several cases stocked. Even though the damned stuff is expired, but people _still_ buy it.”

“And you still sell it?” Ellie asks flatly.

The man licks his lips, looking away and shrugging. “That’s a good question.”

Tim and Ellie share a quick glance. They are in the right place.

Tim looks up. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think we ever got your name.”

“Al Higgins,” the man replies quickly. 

“Right,” Tim says. “So, Mr. Higgins, how much stock is left of the _Go Coconuts?”_

Higgins shrugs. “Enough to keep its fans slicked up into the next decade.”

Ellie starts to giggle. Tim glares her down, so she turns to studying the boxes’ labels.

Higgins clears his throat. “Is that everything?”

Tim shakes his head. “Actually, we were hoping to get the list of people who have purchased the product for the last...say, fifteen years.”

Higgins’ face breaks into a congenial smile. Surprised at how easy it was, Tim matches it to keep the positive energy going until they receive the information they need. When Higgins’ grins suddenly twists with nastiness, Tim knows what is coming next. He sighs inwardly.

“Do you have a warrant for our client list?” Higgins asks.

“We were hoping to handle this discreetly. Maybe if we could talk to the owner, then – “

_“I_ am the owner.” Higgins thumps his hand against his chest. “Come back with a warrant and we’ll hand over what you’re looking for.”

Tim checks with Ellie, but she simply shrugs. Of course, they hadn’t bothered to figure out the company’s owner before heading over. Tim had been excited for _any_ lead. He makes a mental note to call Kasie as soon as they reach the car. He turns to leave, fully expecting Ellie to follow.

Instead, she pipes up. “Can I use your restroom, Mr. Higgins? It was a long drive from the Navy Yard and I shouldn’t have had that latte.” She rubs the back of her neck, smiling sheepishly. The perfect damsel in distress. “Please. It sure would mean a lot to me.”

The time Ellie spends with Nick is making her slick. If he didn’t know better, Tim might actually fall for it too. He knows exactly what she is going to do. She will try to download the client list herself without a warrant, so they can “find” their killer a different way. Gibbs might be impressed with her methods, but Tim sure as hell isn’t. He glares at her, trying to telepathically tell her not to and that she spends way too much time with Nick. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

Higgins bobs his head towards the door. “Go to reception, darlin’. Tell ‘em that Big Al sent you.”

“Thanks a million, Big Al. You’re a hero.” Ellie beams a megawatt smile at him. “Be right back, McGee.” And then, she’s gone.

Tim moves to follow, but Higgins slides in his path. Higgins’ expressions folds into a glower.

“You can hold it, buddy,” he says.

Sighing, Tim pulls out his cell phone. He texts Kasie to look into the owner of _Out of Body Experiences_ and confirm whether or not its Al Higgins. Then, he texts Nick to start on a warrant for the _Out of Body Experiences’_ client list. Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck rises. He notices Higgins glaring him down. He texts Ellie to inform her that he’ll be in the car.

He retreats to the Charger to wait for Ellie. He should be fuming about how she disobeyed a direct order and went rogue. He should be sending texts, rapid fire, until she returns to the car. Instead, he cranks up the car’s heater. Even with it on full blast, he can’t ward off the chill in his bones. Something is rooted in his gut, turning his innards to ice. Tim tries to place that growing feeling.

Movement in the sideview mirror catches his eye, he nearly jumps out of his skin. It is just Al Higgins moving a box to a delivery truck close to the Charger. He takes a box from the truck back to the loading dock. Tim watches for a few minutes before turning back to phone. He is just about to text Ellie again when the door opens, a puff of cold air hits Tim’s cheek.

He rolls his eyes. “Geez, Bishop, what took so long?”

When she doesn’t respond, that feeling claws at Tim’s gut again. Dread, he recognizes far too late.

Tim registers the gun first. 

_That’s a Smith and Wesson Model 10._

Higgins is in the passenger seat. Pointing a gun at him.

_Oh shit._

Tim starts, “What are you – “

“Hands on the wheel, now!” Higgins snaps.

Tim complies. Higgins yanks the phone from Tim’s hand before reaching for his weapon. Right hip first before snatching the Sig from Tim’s left. Higgins checks the gun before tossing it into the backseat. He smashes the cell phone against the dashboard. The cracking and splitting metal makes Tim wince.

“Where is Agent Bishop?” Tim chokes out.

“My associate is with her right now,” Higgins says, coolly. “She is fine. So are you. If you want to keep it that way, I suggest you follow my instructions.” He motions to the car. “Drive.”

Tim has worked enough investigations to know how often abductors lie. Higgins will tell Tim what he wants to hear—what he needs to hear—until the agent conforms to his abductor’s will. Once Higgins has what he wants, he’ll kill Tim and Ellie. Right now, Tim doesn’t know the endgame. He needs to stay alive long enough to figure that out.

Huffing, Higgins removes a cell phone from his jacket pocket. He loads video from a what appears to be a closed-circuit security camera. He shows it to Tim. While the feed is grainy, it is undeniably Ellie standing at a reception desk. She is deep in conversation with what appears to be another man. Only his back and the back of his head is visible.

“Just like I promised. Alive and well,” Higgin says. “Want to keep it that way?”

Tim nods numbly.

“Then drive.”


	7. Chapter 7

Pursing his lips, Tony clicks through the newest crime scene photos. No matter how many times he looks at either case, they will not jog his memory. Maybe Tim was right. This was a huge waste of his time. He probably should have stayed back in Georgia. At least then, he would not have missed his favorite class. The first days of close quarters combat always make him laugh. He enjoys choosing the cockiest probie and telling them not to go easy on him. They smile at the group as though to say, _How can this old coot match me?_ And then, with a bit of Ziva’s Krav Magna, Gibbs’ down and dirty Marine fighting, and Tony’s own boxing skills, he knocks the probie flat on their ass. Then, Tony stands triumphantly with his arms in Sylvester Stallone’s _Rocky_ post while asking if there are any questions. There always are.

He checks the date and frowns at the realization it was yesterday. But he was here, back in the bullpen and trying on his old life for size. Except this time, it feels like those expensive suits he doesn’t wear very often anymore. They still fit and make him feel like a million bucks, but they aren’t who he is right now.

_Maybe I should catch that helo home._

Tony reaches for the phone to call Vance. To tell him that he is heading back to Georgia. As soon as his fingers grace the receiver, it rings shrilly. He stares at it strangely.

He answers. “DiNozzo. Uh…Gibbs’ desk.”

Ellie comes on the line. _“Oh hey, Tony. Did McGee come back to the office?”_

Tony glances over at Tim’s desk, just in case the younger man snuck in. Still empty, much like it has been since Tony showed up. Nick catches Tony’s eye and mouths, _“What’s going on?”_

“No, he hasn’t been back since you left. Why?”

_“Huh, that’s strange.”_ She clucks her tongue. _“He ditched me at a warehouse in Southwest.”_

Tony tilts his head. “That doesn’t sound like him. Maybe he went to run down a lead.”

_“I don’t know. He isn’t answering his phone.”_

And that’s when Tony finally understands. He runs his hand through his hair as he stands. He half-expects Tim to come loping out of the elevator. The stretch of hallway is deserted except for a pair of wide-eyed interns trying to be appear as unobtrusive as the orange walls.

Nick rises. “Yo, Tony, what’s going on?”

Tony covers the receiver. “Tim left Bishop at that shipping company.”

“Huh.” Frowning, Nick glances at his cell phone. “He texted me like ten minutes ago about getting a warrant. I’m still working on it.”

“Call him.”

“Okay.” Nick seems confused by the whole thing.

Tony turns back to the phone. “Alright, Bishop. I’m going to come get you. I’m sure Tim has a good – “

“Straight to voicemail,” Nick interrupts.

“Try again.” Tony falls back into boss-mode.

With a nod, Nick cradles the phone to his ear. “Third time, voicemail.” Tony glares him down. “Trying again.”

Tony swallows hard, suddenly flashing back to these moments on the team. 90% boredom and 10% pure terror, he always said. A teammate missing in the field and two junior agents looking to him for orders. While Gibbs is around here somewhere, Tony doesn’t have the luxury to hunt him down. He needs to get Ellie to safety and tell Nick what to do.

“It’s still going to voicemail,” Nick says.

Nick holds the phone to his ear, one hand hovering over the redial button. He clearly awaits the next order. Tony can tell they both are thinking the same thing. Neither of them trust Nick to run this situation until Gibbs turns up. Nick appears to defer to Tony because he was senior agent once.

Tony keeps his attention on Nick. “Put out a BOLO on the agency sedan. If Tim went for a joyride, he can explain it to Metro. Then, find Gibbs.” He turns back to the phone. “Bishop, get out of there. Walk to the nearest busy street and stay with me. Did anything hinky happen at the warehouse?”

_“What’s going on with McGee?”_

“Just focus and tell me about the interview.”

There is the sound of wind whooshing on the phone. Ellie is on the move. _“Not bad. McGee and I interviewed a man named Al Higgins on the loading dock. He claimed to be the owner of the company, but I could tell McGee didn’t believe him.”_ She clears her throat. _“We separated because I went inside to use the bathroom…”_ Based on the way her voice trails off, Tony can tell she is holding back.

Tony is already searching the name Al Higgins. He gets over a dozen hits in the greater DC area. When he expands the search to include Maryland and Virginia, there are over a hundred. He slams his fist against the desk. 

“What aren’t you telling me, Bish?” Tony asks.

Traffic sounds pick up. _“I thought I could obtain the client list for the body oil.”_

“I thought Torres was working on the warrant for the list.” His voice is harsh.

She half-laughs. _“I – uh…yeah…”_

“Look, we’ll deal with the illegal search and seizure later. Tell me what you found.”

_“Here’s the thing. No one bought that lotion in the last three years.”_

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. His mind is whirring away. Two bodies, a missing teammate and sedan, an unpurchased stock of expired body lotion, and the name: Al Higgins. It’s all connected, but Tony can’t put the dots together. He desperately whirs through every possibility, trying to reach the correct conclusion. One wrong move and the consequences could be disastrous.

“What about Al Higgins?” Tony asks.

Wind whistles through the phone. _“Older than you. Younger than Gibbs. Caucasian. Grey-ish hair. Brown eyes, I think. About McGee’s size, but built like a solider. Ripped for his age. Completely forgettable face. I don’t think that’ll be very helpful.”_

“It’s good. Actually, it’s great.” Tony changes the parameters on the search to fit Ellie’s description.

She scoffs. _“No, it isn’t. I should be able to remember what he looked like, Tony.”_

“You gave me enough. Are you out of there yet?”

Ellie breathes hard now, panting and puffing over the phone line. By the sound, Tony bets she is sprinting. A blare of a car horn. The rumble of traffic. Someone shouting.

_“Yeah, I’m at the corner of P and River Street SW. There’s a small crowd here. It looks like a protest against the fishing industry. Why wouldn’t someone like fish tacos?”_

“Stay there and blend in,” Tony says. “We’ll get you ASAP.”

_“Right. I’ll call if I hear from McGee.”_

Nick looks up. His face is full of questions, but he seems as though he doesn’t want to mess up Tony’s process.

And with that, Tony places the phone on the receiver. Ellie’s limited information managed to considerably narrow his search results. Three men appear on the screen. Two Alan Higgins and an Albrecht Higgins. One of the Alans and Albrecht don’t catch Tony’s eye. The first Alan is African-American. Albrecht has a huge scar zig-zagging down the left side of his face.

Tony turns his attention to the second Alan. He loads the man’s face onto the plasma, so he can study it. Alan Higgins’ face, like Ellie described, is perfectly forgettable. However, Tony recognizes it from somewhere. The man is older now. A lot older, but Tony has seen him before.

_But where?_

On a whim, Tony loads the images of the cold case. In the background of some pictures, there are several lookey-loos who traipsed out to watch the team. After the crime scene shots, there are several stills of the crowd. They are off-kilter and sideways, a burst of images that never was deleted. Something Tim likely took by accident because Tony was harassing him at the time. Probably about the case. If only he could remember. Tony studies the clearest shot and instantly, he notices a man that looks a hell of a lot like Alan Higgins in the front row. Sure, he is younger and his hair is darker. But it is, undeniably, an image of the same man currently on the plasma screen.

“Shit,” Tony mutters to himself. “He went back to the scene. We missed it.”

“I pulled Higgins’ record.” Nick squints at Tony. “You wanted me to do that, right?”

Unable to tear his eyes off the screen, Tony nods mutely. He forgot Nick was even here.

Nick starts talking. “Alan Higgins is a former Marine. Dishonorably discharged in 98. His job history is spotty, but he has been employed off and on at _Out of Body Experiences_ for the last three years. He is definitely not the owner as far as I found in the public records. He did ten for a B&E and aggravated sexual assault. Get this, the victim was male.”

“Where was he during the summer of 2006?”

“He lived in DC until October 2006 before relocating to western Pennsylvania.” Nick’s squint deepens into an almost scowl. “Why?”

“That’s our killer.” Tony says resolutely. “And I bet he’s with Tim.”

Those words hit Nick like an electrical jolt. He jumps to his feet, reaching into his desk to grab his gun and creds. Tony follows, falling back into a decade-long routine he could never forget. Except when he reaches into the drawer he keeps his gun, he snatches at open air. The only thing he finds are paper clips, loose leaf, and his old Mighty Mouse stapler. At that moment, he remembers this is Gibbs’ desk.

He isn’t a field agent anymore. His gun is locked in his gun safe in Georgia because he doesn’t actively carry it anymore. His weapons is more of a statement piece, that perfect tie clip on a new Armani suit. He isn’t supposed to be in the field, rules and regulations and bureaucratic bullshit. Tony feels himself deflate. Tim McGee will likely die at the hands of a serial killer and Tony is powerless to stop it.

Self-consciously, h puts his hand on his empty right hip.

Nick must notice because he crosses the bullpen. He holds out his back-up weapon, a Glock 27. Tony takes it, their eyes meeting over the gun. Tony’s gratitude goes unspoken as Nick solemnly nods. Tony finally realizes he was wrong about Nick.

“Where’s Gibbs?” Tony asks.

Just as Nick opens his mouth, a voice growls, “Right here.”

Gibbs swoops through the hallway, his sportscoat flapping as he takes a hard turn into the bullpen.

“How much did you hear?” Tony asks.

“Most of it from Torres.” Gibbs speaks quickly. “McGee’s MIA. Our dirtbag is Al Higgins.”

Gibbs pauses at his desk long enough to pick up his Sig and creds. They are in the drawer beside the one Tony checked. Gibbs never used to keep his weapons there. Nick and Tony stand aside, allowing him to lead the way. Gibbs pauses to pluck the gun from Tony’s hand before returning it to Nick. Swiveling to face Gibbs, Tony works his hands into fists.

Gibbs jerks his head. “Get the car, Torres!”

And with that, Nick is running for the stairs.

Tony draws himself to his full height. “I’m not staying behind. I need to be – “

“Tony, I know,” Gibbs interrupts. 

Gibbs put his right foot on the nearest desk. His ankle hostler peeks out from the cuff of his khakis. Then, he removes the snub nose revolver and hands to Tony. To him, it is an honor to hold Gibbs’ Smith and Wesson 36. Tony checks the chambers to ensure its loaded before tucking it into his waistband.

“Thanks,” he says.

Gibbs clips a nod. “Gives Torres plausible deniability.”

Tony starts to speak before changing his mind.

“You’re with Torres,” Gibbs says. “I’ll pick up Bishop.”

Tony hesitates.

“Torres won’t ask.”

After a quick nod, Tony rushes for the stairs. Gibbs is mere steps behind him. 

“And DiNozzo?” Gibbs calls after him.

Stopping in his tracks, Tony readies for another confrontation with Gibbs. He isn’t about to sit this one out. While he and Tim aren’t friends anymore, Tony still feels slightly responsible for him. Gibbs barrels into him, shoving Tony forward to keep them moving. Gibbs talks as they head into the stairwell. His voice carries down the stairs as Tony lopes down them.

“This thing between you and Tim isn’t worth it.”

One floor down. A hollow laugh on Tony’s part. “You know, Gibbs, you _really_ shouldn’t be giving relationship advice.”

“The hell I shouldn’t. You obviously give a crap what happens to him.” Gibbs stays silent for two floors. Tony doesn’t know what to say. “Don’t be like me, DiNozzo. You always were better.”

They are at the garage when Gibbs’ phone rings. He talks in muted tones as they head through the fire door into a sea of cards. A Charger waits by the garage exit with its engine running. Tony notices Nick in the driver’s seat. Grim-faced, Gibbs mutters something unintelligible and hangs up.

Gibbs’ frown deepens. “Metro just pulled Tim over.”


	8. Chapter 8

“…told you to keep a low profile.” Higgin is ranting and raving at Tim. “Why did you run that red light? I _told_ you it was red. You drive like an idiot. What were you…”

From the passenger seat, Higgins berates Tim about all the things he _should_ have done. Stayed on the road. Obeyed all traffic laws. Take the exit on the road, not the shoulder. Followed directions from the person holding a gun on him.

Except, Tim didn’t listen.

Tim inhales deeply, his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Keep them where Higgins can see them. Two and ten was Tim’s mantra on the drive. Ten and two. Ten and two, Tim’s driving instructor used to say. It would keep him safe, keeps his attention on the road, and prevent him from getting into an accident. Though, it didn’t really work when he took his Camaro for a spin in high school. He wonders whether the advice is still valid during a carjacking.

He keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead. It is the start of a suburban street, not far off 495. A few houses, small ranchers from the 70s, peek around the corner up ahead. The only neighbors where Tim parked are thick patches of dried out grass. The red and blue lights of the squad car dance in the rearview mirror. He drove for so long—and so terribly—that he was almost surprised to see them. He had started to lose hope when he blew through the first stop sign and no one intervened.

“The light was red,” Higgins continues his rant. “Red means stop. Green means go. What did you learn in driver’s ed anyway?”

“Ten and two,” Tim replies, gesturing at his hands with his chin

Higgins slams his fist against the door. The smack echoes through the car. Tim flinches.

Right now, Tim is desperately trying to come up with the plan as he goes. The plan is that he has no plan. He wants to warn the cops when they approach the car. Maybe he’ll casually tell them his passenger has a gun tucked underneath the jacket in his lap. Perhaps, he could yell gun and hope their reflexes are faster than Higgins. He would do any of these things…if the cops left their cruiser. They’re likely double-checking the sedan’s agency plates and determining how big the find should be since Gibbs likes to piss off Metro whenever he can. To Tim, it feels they’ve been there forever. He can’t tell if it really has been or if his sense of time is warped from being on the wrong side of a gun.

Higgins groans loudly. “Another cop car just pulled up.”

That’s enough to make Higgins end his rant. The deafening silence rolls over them like a thick blanket. It was better when Higgins was pretending to be the world’s worst driver’s ed teacher. Higgins resolutely watches the scene in the rearview mirror while Tim stares at the double yellow line on the road. He hopes he doesn’t end up in the morgue.

_Keep your hands at ten and two._

Inhale.

_Eyes on the road ahead._

Exhale.

_Ten and two. Ten and two._

Tim repeats the mantra while his mind pieces together the scraps of a plan. If he warns the trooper about the gun, Higgins will shoot them both. If he plays the _I’m a federal agent and I outrank you_ card, he’ll be allowed to leave, and Higgins will just shoot Tim later. All scenarios end with a bullet. Unless he can convince the trooper that he is drunk and needs to take a sobriety test. 

Panic slowly rises in Tim’s gut. There shouldn’t have been enough time for –

Suddenly, Higgins bucks against the seat.

“A third cop car just showed up.” His glare lasers onto Tim. “That’s _three_ – “ he holds up the accompanying number of fingers for emphasis “ – cop cars for _one_ red light.”

Higgins roughly grabs the shoulder of Tim’s jacket. He yanks Tim toward him, _hard._ In the confines of the car, there isn’t far to go. Tim’s chest slams into the gearshift. He groans when the hit reverberates through his ribs. Higgins jerks him closer. If he’s lucky, that’ll bruise. If he isn’t…

Higgins shoves the gun into Tim’s side. The agent shudders at the cold metal cutting through his dress shirt. After all his years as an agent and the months in Paraguay, he should be numb to it. The violence. The pain. The weapons. Except, he isn’t. When pointed at him, guns still scare the hell out of him. Just a few pounds of pressure, the twitch of a finger, and that’s it. Everything he worked so hard for will be gone.

“Were you trying to get pulled over?” Higgins hisses through clenched teeth.

“What?” Tim’s voice jumps an octave. “No. I followed your directions, but you didn’t tell me where to go until the last minute. How am I supposed to drive when I don’t know where I’m going?”

Higgins just stares at him, callous and dead-eyed.

“You could’ve used a GPS.” When Higgins digs the gun deeper, Tim grinds his teeth. “Do you think that’s helping? Have you ever tried to drive a car at gunpoint?”

Higgins huffs aggravatedly. At that moment, his eyes sweep to the sideview mirror.

“One of the cops just got out of the car,” Higgins says. “Get rid of him.”

He roughly shoves Tim away. Straightening up in his seat, Tim smooths his sportscoat. Higgins obscures the gun further from view. Tim takes a deep breath, struggling to calm his racing heart. He removes his wallet and creds from his pockets. He considers how he should open the conversation with the police. _Hi, how’s your day going? My passenger has a gun._

Or possibly, _sorry my boss pinched your case. Do you think you could help me? I’m being held hostage._

A knock rattles the window. Tim nearly leaps out of his skin. Higgins makes a motion that seems to say, _get on with it._

Tim slowly rolls down the window. “Look, Officer, I know I – “

“License and registration,” the cop demands.

At the sound of the cop’s voice, Tim’s heart lifts. Tim often hears it harassing Ellie or boasting about how much the owner can deadlift at the gym. He cautiously glances out the window.

Nick stands there, ticket pad in his left hand and a pen in his right. His mirrored sunglasses make it impossible to discern who he is staring at. He resembles a stereotypical movie cop.

Tim mouths, _gun._ If Nick caught it, he gives nothing away.

Nick taps his pen against the pad. “License and registration. _Please.”_

Tim hands over his NCIS badge.

Nick scrutinizes it. First, he holds the badge up to the sunlight as though it might be fake. Then, he studies Tim’s picture and his face. To the untrained eye, he appears to be determining whether Tim’s round, bearded face matches the picture of the thinner, clean-shaven man. In reality, Tim knows Nick is trying to determine where Higgins hid the gun.

“NCIS, huh? Never heard of it.” Nick’s eyebrows arch over the sunglasses. “What kind of agency is that?”

If the situation were any different, Tim might be laughing at the absurdity of it. “Naval Criminal Investigative Service.”

Nick’s eyebrows nearly climb to his hairline. “Navy, you say. Since when does the Navy have cops?”

“Since forever?” It comes as a question, not a statement. 

“Hm.” Nick sounds incredulous.

Higgins leans over. “What’s the problem, officer?”

Nick frowns. “I’m going to need my partner’s help with this one.”

He waves at the line of cars. Tim’s eyes flick to the rearview as he watches Tony climb out of the passenger seat of the second car. Tony ambles toward the Charger. He wears a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses exactly like Nick’s. His expression is that of a bored, overworked cop on the beat. Once he joins Nick, he wearily looks at the younger man over his sunglasses.

“What seems to be the problem, Officer Drebin?” Tony asks.

Nick shows Tony the badge. “What do you make of this, Officer Stark? This guy – “ Nick jerks his head at Tim “ – says he’s from NCIS. Have you ever heard of it?”

“Nope.” Tony purses his lips. “What happened, man? Couldn’t you spell CSI? At least, everyone has heard of _them_.” He shows Tim the picture. “That doesn’t even look like you.”

Tim hands over his driver’s license. “That’s definitely me, Officer.”

Pulling down his sunglasses, Tony meets Tim’s eyes. His gaze glides over Tim, ensuring that the younger man is okay. And for the first time since Tony returned, Tim realizes his former friend still cares about him. Even if it just to know whether he lives to see another day.

Tony turns his attention back to Tim’s creds. He makes a show of studying them. He turns over the leather wallet, tries to pry the seams apart, and raps on the badge with his knuckles. Based on the look in his eyes, Tim thinks Tony might be about to bite it like an Olympic medal. He seems to decide against it. By the time Tony is done, Higgins is nearly in Tim’s lap. Tim presses himself as far back against the seat as he can go. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim catches movement in the sideview mirror. He watches Ellie and Gibbs slip covertly from the third car.

Higgins moves to look. Tony busts out laughing, slapping the badge against his hand.

“You almost got me – “ Tony uses air quotes and says, bumbling over the name, “ – ‘Special Agent McGee.’” He straightens up, glowers. “Did you know impersonating a federal agent in a crime?”

“I _am_ a federal agent,” Tim protests.

Tony holds up the photo with the NCIS badge. “You don’t have a beard in this one.”

Tim think he knows where this is headed. “Yeah, but – “

“Or this one.” Tony shows Tim the driver’s license.

“Look, Officer, you’d have to talk to my agency.”

Tony stares disapprovingly at Tim over his sunglasses. In the passenger seat, Higgins’ head whips between Tim and Tony fast enough to induce whiplash. Tim just hopes they’re keeping him distracted enough to prevent him from looking out the passenger window.

“We can handle that at the station,” Tony says, pocketing Tim’s information. “Get out of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

All their careful wordplay comes down to this moment. If Tim can get out of the car safely, Ellie and Gibbs can grab Higgins without incident. He checks the sideview mirror and sure enough, Ellie and Gibbs are crouched beside the back tire, waiting for an opening. Tim hesitates. He needs Higgins focused on him, Tony and Nick, not suddenly realizing Ellie and Gibbs are right there.

“Out of the car!” Tony orders.

“Now!” Nick barks.

Nick unholsters his weapon. Tony plucks a gun from the waistband of his pants.

Tim reaches for the door handle. Higgins’ face twists with anger. At that moment, Higgins pulls his gun. Tim lurches after the weapon. Tries to point the barrel at the ceiling. There isn’t enough space in the car. He can’t twist his body at the right angle. Can’t stretch right. He can’t reach it.

Higgins grabs Tim’s upper back. Before he can react, Tim’s face connects with the steering wheel. Something in Tim’s nose cracks. Then, white-hot pain lurches across his face. Stars explode in his vision, sparkling black and white fireworks. He can’t bare to move. Can’t bare to breathe.

He remains still, face flat against the steering wheel, groaning and barely holding onto consciousness. The cold metal of Higgins’ gun presses against the back of his head.

Somewhere far away, Tim hears Tony and Nick yell, “gun!” in unison. Tony and Nick have their weapons trained on the car with Tim caught in the crossfire.

“Drop it,” Tony warns.

“I’ll kill him!” Higgins yells. “You know, I will!”

He shoves the gun harder against the side of Tim’s head. The pressure makes Tim’s eyes water. The throb in his face worsens. The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth, gagging him. His vision greys at the edges, lulling him to sleep. He blinks at the view of the steering wheel. Black vinyl.

“Put it down,” Nick shouts.

“Get back!” Higgins yells. “Or I’ll – “

Cold air suddenly floods the car. The weight on Tim’s head lifts. Higgins’ yell delves into shrieking. His voice slips further and further away. Tim hears Ellie and Gibbs shouting that Higgins is under arrest for kidnapping a federal agent, attempted murder, and murder. Ellie drowns out Higgins’ shrieks with his Miranda rights. Outside the car, Tony and Nick confer with Gibbs. At least, Tim thinks they are. He barely hears anything over the _whoosh whoosh_ in his ears and the heartbeat in his nose.

Groaning, Tim leans back against the driver’s seat. He presses his hands against his nose, wincing and grimacing at the swelling. His fingers are slick with blood. He tries to breathe, but he can’t. There’s nowhere for the air to go. Instead, he pulls a breath through his mouth.

“Oh G-d,” he murmurs, voice nasal. 

The car door creaks open. The ensuing cold air leaves Tim shaking. Someone reaches over him to release the seatbelt. It takes a moment for Tim to register Tony easing him out of the car. His feet land on the asphalt, shoes scrabbling as he attempts to stay upright. Tony leans Tim against the car door. The world spins dizzyingly around Tim. Cop cars. Asphalt. Bright blue sky. Ellie yelling Miranda rights again.

Tim retches into his hands, but only manages to bring up bloodied saliva. Some of it sickeningly splats against the asphalt. Tony grabs Tim’s upper arm, guiding him to the ground. Tim’s aching head lands against the frigid car door, his hands clutch his gushing nose. Tony crouches in front of him.

“Are you okay, Tim?” Tony asks.

Tim is aware enough to understand once Tony hears the answer, he’ll return to his own life. If there is anything Tim wants to say, now is his only chance.

“McGee?” Tony squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “Earth to McGee.”

“Jesus, Tony, I was an ass.” It comes out as _Jethuth, Tony, I wath an ath._

Tony smiles. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry. I should have said it before.”

“Are you okay?” 

Tim nods his head and instantly, he regrets it. To prove his point further, Tim attempts to stand. Tony grabs his arm, helping him as he climbs to unsteady feet. As soon as he is upright, Tim realizes the mistake. The spinning worsens and he feels like he might just fall off the planet. He retches again, coughing up something all over Tony’s shoes.

Then, he passes out.


	9. Chapter 9

Life comes back to Tim in bits and pieces. A thumping heartbeat in the center of his face. His nose, he barely remembers. A pounding, deep ache in right his side. That is followed by a thick, sour taste in his mouth. He closes his lips, but suddenly, he is suffocating. He reaches for his nose.

_Why can’t I breathe?_

“Watch it, McGee,” a familiar voice says.

He opens his eyes to slits. It should be enough to see, but the lights are blinding. He groans, closes his mouth, and inhales through his nose. Something is stuffed so far up that it might be in his brain. He goes for his nose, but someone’s hands grab his wrists.

“McGee.” That familiar voice warns him.

His brain is slow to process everything. His nose is pulsing now—his side, too—but he can’t bring himself to care about much of anything.

_Wahoo, it must be drugs. Wait, why am I on drugs?_

He opens his eyes again. Bright, burning lights sear into his tired brain. Wherever he is, he probably shouldn’t be here. For a long moment, he stares at the blindingly white space. Tears brim to his eyes from the lights. Eventually, the room starts to come into focus. White blanket on a hospital bed, stark walls save for a tastefully bland print of a seascape. He shifts slightly and the hands holding his relax.

Tim blinks again. He finally notices Tony standing by the bedside. 

“Tony.” Tim’s voice is thick and nasal. “What are you still doing here?”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

Tim pushes himself higher in the bed. The lancing pain in his side leaves him doubled over and moaning.

Tony smiles sympathetically. “The doctors were just here a little while ago, but you were sleeping. You’ve got a broken nose, and they think a couple of bruised ribs. They drugged you to the gills to set your nose.” Tony appraises him for a moment. “It doesn’t look too bad. Really.”

“Do I want to see?” Tim asks.

After surveying him for a second time, Tony frowns deeply and shakes his head. “Probably not. Listen, Delilah’s on her way. She was in the field and her boss had some trouble reaching her. She’ll be here as soon as she can. I promised to stay until she gets here.”

Tim half-nods. “Thanks.” 

Tony merely shrugs. For a moment, Tim figures that might be the end of the conversation. The silence is looming and painful, punctuated by calls over the loudspeakers for different doctors.

“Did we get Higgins?” Tim asks.

“Oh yeah. He already confessed to our murders and a few others. No ID on our John Doe though.” Tony’s face turns grim and he looks away. He swallows hard, eyes on that seascape.

Tim leans to catch his gaze. The pain starts up again and he clutches his side. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Tony?”

Tony won’t look at him. “Higgins confessed right after you passed out. He figured NCIS was on to him when you and Bishop showed up. I guess he thought he could skip the needle if he spilled the beans before Gibbs got him back to headquarters.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Tim can’t fathom why Tony is so upset. When Tony glances over, the creases on his forehead have deepened. Tim doesn’t remember Tony looking so old.

Tony’s voice is barely above a whisper. “You were supposed to be next, Tim. Higgins said that since NCIS was onto him, he wanted to go out with a bang.”

It is Tim’s turn to look away. His scrubs his hands through his hair. There should be an unsettled pit in his stomach right now. Some innate sense of relief or fear or _something_ wearing straight through him, but there is nothing there. Tim is numb. And that absence is more unsettling than the raw fear of another close brush with the reaper. He has dodged death more times than he cares to count. He knows exactly what the moments after should feel like.

_Why does this feel another day at the office?_

Tim licks his extremely dry lips. Can’t breathe. Relaxes and inhales through his mouth again.

_This isn’t normal._

Tony starts talking again. A nervous mile a minute. “And all I could keep thinking was that you could’ve died and we would still be doing – “ he motions between them “ – whatever the hell this is.”

“I don’t know what we’re doing.” Tim tries to smile. “All I know is that I’m sorry.”

Tony smiles sadly. “I just never even knew what happened.”

Tim drops his eyes to the bedspread. He weaves the rough fabric through his fingers. Then, he rolls it back out again. He finds a loose thread. Worries it free. Starts making a hole through the worn fabric. A lump catches in his throat, but he can’t swallow it. He sighs quietly. 

“I tried to talk to you.” Tim sighs again. “I sent so many e-mails. I called so many times. You never gave me a chance to explain myself. You just changed your number...”

Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it. Your e-mails tried to keep things moving forward, but I needed to talk about what happened between us. I needed to make sense of it because it changed our relationship. Tim, you never bothered to apologize.”

“You should understand Rule Six better than anyone.”

Tony shakes his head. “During my last year on the team, I learned apologizing isn’t a sign of weakness. It way too long to figure it out, but it was a _really_ important lesson. Apologizing isn’t about you. It’s about acknowledging you might have hurt someone else.” His eyes skirt away. “Like me.”

Tim buries his face in his hands. “Oh G-d, I was such an ass.”

“I won’t argue with you on that.”

Tony just sits there, expectantly. Tim knows it’s now or never.

“It was always the three of us, you know?” he says finally.

Tony looks at him questioningly.

“It was – “ Tim counts on his fingers “ – you, me, and Ziva. We were a team. Us against the criminals. Us against the clock. Us against Gibbs.”

Tony is nodding, obviously not following.

“You chose Ziva, Tony,” Tim says. “I always knew I came second. I understood that, but I didn’t expect it to be so obvious. I mean, you and Ziva had a kid together.”

Tony’s expression turns unreadable. “After Ziva left, I tried to convince her to come back. We were together once.” He holds up his right index finger. “ _Once, Tim._ Once. I thought I could convince her to come back, but I just couldn’t. She wanted me to stay with her. Go on the run. See the world.” He smiles at some distant memory. “We could be Bonnie and Todd, she said. In the end, I chose you and Gibbs because you are my team.” He half-smiles as he finds Tim’s eyes. “You are my family. Were, I guess.”

Tim’s mouth pulls into a tight line. He stays like that until he can’t breathe anymore, but the silence stretches for a long time. Eventually, his shoulders sag in defeat.

“I had no idea you felt that way,” he whispers.

“You could’ve asked,” Tony says flatly. “That still doesn’t explain why you flipped the day Ziva died.”

Tim stares at the ceiling. “I had just learned Ziva was dead. I thought you two had a secret relationship. Then, you told me about your pact.” Tony starts to speak, but Tim keeps going. “Yes, I know it was to protect me. Now that I’m senior agent, I understand exactly what you were trying to do. Protect your team at any cost. I get it now. At the time though, how did you think it would make me feel?”

“I didn’t have time to consider your feelings, Tim. We were still reeling from Kate’s death when Ziva showed up. I did what I thought was best to protect you. You were still a probie, remember?” Tony points to his chest. “You were _my_ probie. You were _my_ responsibility.”

Tony seems to pause to emphasis his point. Based on the dark look in his eyes, Tim believes they’re both visiting the same tortured part of their past. That horrible summer when Kate died by a sniper’s bullet. They were running on fumes while trying to put Ari Haswari into the ground. Kate’s body was growing cold when Ziva David arrived to take care of her half-brother. All of them—even Gibbs—were frantic, running scared, and just trying to survive.

Tony raises his shoulders. “I never lost a teammate before Kate. I sure as hell wasn’t about to lose another one. Ziva told me that she didn’t need my help. A single coyote, I believe she called herself. I figured I was on my own in the field. I wasn’t about to let her do the same to you. So we came to terms.” 

“I know, Tony.” Tim tries to grasp how much he wasn’t privy to back then. “Just at the time, I wanted you to be proud of me. I didn’t think you were.”

Eyes wide and his mouth gaping, Tony stares at Tim. “Are you serious? I was and I am.” He uses his hand to gesture at Tim. “Just look at you.”

Tim checks out the state of his body. The scratchy hospital gown, the mysterious bright red scratches and blackening bruises on his arms, the stale smell of dragon breath wafting from his mouth. He knows there must be a myriad of gauze and bandages layered around his nose. If he were to guess, he likely sports a pair of black eyes and gobs of blood crusted in his beard. Tim inhales through his mouth. It tastes disgusting, sour and rotten.

Tony must be thinking the same thing because he smiles sheepishly.

“Okay, maybe not right this second. But you _are_ one hell of an agent.” He shifts in his chair and crosses his arms. “I wanted to make sure you lived long enough to get here.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers again.

“I am too. I should have told you why.”

Behind Tim, one of the machines releases a barely audible click. Moments later, a fluffy feeling suddenly envelopes Tim’s body. He feels as though he is shining like a thousand-watt bulb. If he isn’t careful, Tony might end up blinded by Tim’s brightness. Tim slumps against the bed, grinning wildly. He knows it’s the drugs. He has been drugged enough times—both in the hospital and situations he’d rather not remember—to know what it feels like. He can’t bring himself to care.

“Do you think we’ll ever be friends again?” Tim asks.

“Yeah.” Tony nods to convince himself. “We will.”

Tim continues to feel like he might just float around the room. He is barely tethered to reality by the concerned look on Tony’s face. Tim waves his hands lazily, mesmerized by the way his fingers move. Did they always float so fluidly? Overlapping each other and moving away again?

“Do you think you ever would have picked me?” Tim asks distractedly.

Tony’s brow furrows. “I did…”

“No, I mean. Do you think it ever could have been us?”

Tony’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “You mean like together _together_?”

As soon as the words are out, Tim realizes how crazy it must sound. Tony’s expression evaporates into one that is completely stony. His mouth is set, face drawn. The only tell is the pink tinge to his cheeks. He starts to speak, but he shakes his head.

He manages to say: “I didn’t know you swung that way, Tim.”

“I didn’t.” Tim suddenly understands what Tony is saying. “I don’t. I just…I was wondering…”

Tim is slowly sobering up. That megawatt feeling ebbing away into a cold dread spreading deep in his gut. Somehow, he managed to screw up his reconciliation attempts with Tony.

Tim attempts to smile. “You’re straight. I’m straight. Neither of us go that way.”

Tony rubs his thumb against the back of his hand. Not speaking, he allows the silence to stretch. The drugs are slipping out from Tim’s system, whisking him from its peaceful embrace to painful reality.

“I might switch for the right person.” Tony’s meaningful stare seems to say Tim might have been worthy. “Don’t forget Rule 12. Though, if I remember right, you were madly in love with Delilah at the time.”

“I still am.”

Tim smiles dreamily at the thought of his wife. After he was abducted, he was terrified he would never see her again. Now, she is going to _kill_ him for almost getting murdered. Again. No more life-threatening situations after Paraguay, she made him promise. And he had promised, anything to keep her from worrying like that. He never thought it could be so easy to break that promise, even by accident.

Tony shrugs with one shoulder. “Then, I guess we’ll never know what could have happened. We only have where we can go from here.”

Tim didn’t understand until that moment how the lines between partners could be blurred into something more. He never knew how he felt about his team, except they were more than coworkers. Maybe that was how Tony and Ziva ended up with Tali. Maybe that was why Tony made an agreement with Ziva to keep Tim safe. What started out as co-workers and teammates developed into something familial, friendly, romantic. The lines are so blurred, Tim can’t even see them anymore. He keeps his current team at arm’s length. He learned that after Ziva left with only an e-mail to say goodbye. There working a case with them one day, the next e-mailing from somewhere way off the grid. The cuts were too deep, the pain too profound. He never let another team grow that close again.

Tim reaches his hand out. “Friends?”

“Friends.” Tony shakes it emphatically. “You know, I’ve been considering a transfer to DC.”

“That’s great.” Suddenly, panic seizes in Tim’s gut. His face goes deathly pale. “Wait. You aren’t planning to move back into your old apartment, are you?”

Tony laughs. “It would be way too small for me and Tali. I still don’t know how you manage to cram twin one-year-olds, a wife, and all their stuff in there.”

Tim just grins. “You’d be amazed what you’ll do for affordable rent.”


	10. Chapter 10

**EPILOGUE**

On a weekend morning, there are a multitude of activities Tim typically enjoys. Cooking a huge breakfast for his family. Playing hide and seek with the twins. Snuggling with his wife on the odd day the kids decide to sleep past 0600. Of all the things Tim could be doing early on a Saturday morning, sitting in the director’s office isn’t even on the list.

Yet, here he is.

He shifts awkwardly in one of Director Leon Vance’s extremely uncomfortable visitor chairs. Sitting in the chair next to him, Tony is oddly at ease with his phone in one hand. If Tim had to guess, Tony is probably explaining to his dad why he hasn’t left yet. First, it was to finish out the reports for the case. Then, it was for a make-up dinner with Tim and Delilah. Now, it is for a meeting with Vance.

_Three times in as many days. Tony will never have a babysitter again._

Tim leans forward, but it doesn’t help. His ass fell asleep ten minutes ago. For how long they’ve been here, Vance should have said his piece and cut them loose. Tim should be on the Beltway, halfway home and Tony should be waiting in the security line at the airport.

Except no one is bothering to say anything.

Vance waits at his desk, hands steepled against his lips. He pushes so hard that he’ll end up leaving a mark. In his head, Tim hears Tony monologuing about a Bond villain vibe. It’s enough to give Tim the creeps, but he doesn’t point it out. Vance’s careful eyes watch Gibbs, who stands by the door with his back to them. Gibbs’ stance reflects how everyone is feeling. No one wants to be here.

Leaning to the side, Tim braces himself against the arm of the chair. He tightens his grip on the glass in his hand. He managed to forget he was even holding it. If Vance hadn’t served them a drink when they arrived, Tim might’ve thought they were about get their asses chewed out. Though, drinks mean celebrations and Tim doesn’t really think there’s anything worthy of that.

He hazards a sip. It could be rum, bourbon or Scotch for all he can tell. He hasn’t been able to taste anything since the doctors shoved a box of gauze up his nose. While it’s way too early to drink—too early even for hair of the dog—in Washington, it must be 5 o’clock somewhere in Asia.

_Bottoms up._

Vance clears his throat. “Would you like to tell them, Gibbs? Or should I?”

Gibbs swivels just enough to glare at Vance. For all the stares Tim has received, this one is particularly vicious. Lethal even. Vance just matches it.

Tim shares a glance with Tony. Tim shrugs first, followed by Tony. Tim gestures with his head to say, _Ask them what’s going on._ Tony purses his lips to retort, _Your circus, your monkeys, McGee._

Tim sighs resignedly because he will be on Gibbs’ shit list forever. He just would like to see his family before the weekend is over. If he ditches Delilah with the twins yet again, she’ll try to kill him for the second time this week. He gets the meeting moving.

“Tell us what?” he interrupts.

Vance seems to take Gibbs’ continued silence to mean he’ll speak for them. Sifting through some errant papers on his desk, Vance lifts a personnel file. The manila is weathered and cracking at the spine, the pages are numerous and barely fit inside.

He starts, “Agent Gibbs – “

“It’s bullshit, Leon!” Gibbs snaps.

Tim and Tony nearly jump out of their seats.

Vance offers a pained smile. “Be that as it may. NCIS has policies in place for a reason and a mandatory retirement age is one of them. We haven’t reviewed personnel files in several years.” He looks at Gibbs meaningfully. “You were due to retire four years ago.”

“I can still do the job.” It’s the closest Tim has ever heard Gibbs to begging.

“I know, Gibbs. Believe me, I know. You’ll still be here to do it, albeit differently. Deputy Director Gibbs has a nice ring to it.” Vance wavers for a moment. “We just need to work out the kinks.”

“Kinks, my ass,” Gibbs growls to himself.

Tim double-checks his glass to see just how much he drank. Barely a sip of a shot of nothing. Though, it might be too much when mixed with the pain pills for his nose. He glances from Vance to Gibbs and back again. He must be hallucinating. Vance can’t be forcing Gibbs into semi-retirement.

Slack-jawed, Tony also watches the scene unfold. His phone sits in his lap, untouched. The screen blinks with an unread message. He seems to be having the same difficulty understanding as Tim. Based on Tony’s identical reaction, Tim must be processing everything correctly.

Vance starts again, “Agent Gibbs – “

Suddenly, Gibbs storms out of the office. He slams the door hard enough to knock a picture off the wall. The glass spiderwebs across the frame. None of them flinch because they all know Gibbs by now.

“That went well,” Vance mutters.

“At least he didn’t shoot you,” Tony offers.

That earns a smirk. “I’m assuming, now, you two can guess why you’re here.”

Tim and Tony share a shrug. Then, they turn back to Vance as perplexed as when they arrived.

He makes a face. “First off, Agent DiNozzo, I’d like to commend you for your work. You turned out to be the linchpin to closing the most recent investigation. Two murders on our books and nearly a dozen for Metro. It will only be a matter of time before we reach out to other jurisdictions and uncover how far these crimes really go. You should be proud of yourself for stopping a serial killer.”

The alcohol in Tim’s stomach turns to molten lava. It sears the back of his throat. He swallows hard to force the burn back down. While Tony called Higgins a serial killer at the hospital, the words hadn’t really sunk in. Now, he understands the terrifying fate he narrowly escaped. He scratches at the back of his neck; Tony squeezes his shoulder.

Vance remains impassive. “I think it’s safe to assume that Agent McGee is appreciative as well.”

“You have no idea,” Tim whispers.

Tony’s smile borders on awkward. He sneaks a glance at his phone. Tim lost count of how many times they’ve been through this. First, it was the thankful conversations at the hospital while he was drugged out of his damned mind. Then, Delilah showed up with fresh tears and hugs for the both of them.

“Let’s just say we’re even.” Tony’s voice says that’s the end of it.

Vance catches the undertone. “There will be a commendation in your file, Agent DiNozzo. I know I never said it enough while you were here, but good work. Great work. It was a shame to lose you in the field.”

Something close to sadness slides over Tony’s face. Gone before it even settles down. Instead, the well-schooled mask takes its place. Tony shrugs to say it doesn’t matter. 

“That leaves us to our second point of business.” Vance turns his eyes to Tim. “As you just saw, Agent Gibbs is up for mandatory retirement. I could only keep his age secret for so long before it popped up on HR’s radar. I will admit I’m surprised it took them so long to find out.”

Tim’s face pinches. “What happens to him now?”

“I’m creating a Deputy Director position for him here. The SAC’s will report their cases to him while he ensures they cover all their bases. It frees me up to deal with my other duties.” Vance’s smile borders on conspiratorial. “If he sneaks into the field or interrogation, I’ll be too busy to stop him.”

Tim’s frown deepens. Removing Gibbs from the field would be like taking oxygen away. The man would never be able to function. At this point in his life, Gibbs’ entire existence is defined by his job and his dedication to it. Without it, Tim doesn’t know where Gibbs will end up.

“You can’t do that!” Tim protests.

“I understand your hesitation, Agent McGee,” Vance says. “My hands are tied by government protocol. It was either this or send him off into the sunset with his pension.”

Tony’s eyebrows rise. “He wouldn’t like that.”

“Then it seems we’re choosing the lesser of two evils, Agent DiNozzo.” Vance goes back to steepling his hands. _Dr. No,_ Tim decides. “That leaves an opening for SAC. You’d be next in line, Agent McGee.”

Tim’s chair grows even more torturous. The room suddenly feels as though it were hit with a heat wave in the middle of July. Little black dots prick into his vision. He learns forward, elbows on his knees and staring at the floor. If you asked him a few years ago, a promotion to SAC was everything Tim ever wanted. Now, he can’t stand the thought. Not after everything he experienced in Paraguay. Not after nearly being the victim of a serial killer. Not after watching his mentor and friend—hell, he can’t believe he considers Gibbs a friend—be forced into retirement.

_I’m supposed to want this._

Vance cocks his head. “I thought you’d be jumping at the opportunity, Agent McGee.”

Tim thought he would be too. Maybe it’s the anxiety that started up after Paraguay, that feeling as though he should be checking over his shoulder for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe it was the haggard look in Delilah’s eyes when she flew into his hospital room yesterday. He can’t do that to her again.

“Are you alright, Agent McGee?” Vance asks.

Tim snaps his head up. “Yeah, it’s just that…” He smiles nervously. “I think Delilah would kill me if I took a promotion after everything we’ve been through. Otherwise, I would – “

Vance cuts him off. “I understand. Family comes first. Though that leaves me with an open position I’ll need to fill…”

“Me!” Tony blurts out.

Tim and Vance swivel to stare at Tony, who suddenly bolted upright, phone forgotten. He leans forward, both feet flat on the floor and shoulders squared. His eyes are clear, his face rapt with excitement.

“Excuse me, Agent DiNozzo?” Vance asks.

“I’m ready to return to fieldwork.” Tony is nodding emphatically. “More than ready.” 

“I hadn’t thought you would want to get back to it. You made that perfectly clear when you left the MCRT and turned down the SAC position in Naples.”

Tony’s smile borders on sheepish. It must have been an ugly scene for Tony to turn down his own team and quit the agency. Tim shudders at the thought.

“Circumstances change, Director,” Tony says. 

“Understandably, DiNozzo. Outside of Agents Gibbs and McGee, there isn’t anyone else I could picture heading the MCRT.” Vance pinions Tony with a stare. “It will involve some reporting to Agent Gibbs. Will that be a problem?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not at all, sir.”

“Good.” Vance half-smiles. “Since you’ll be heading the MCRT, they may need a refresher on some of the ground rules. I couldn’t imagine anyone better to bring them up to speed.”

“It’s a good thing I know them all by heart.”

When Tim glances over, the openness of Tony’s expression is shocking. Excitement, eagerness, and—dare Tim even say—happiness are on full display. Tim doesn’t know if he ever saw Tony happy before today. Tim matches his friend’s exuberance.

Their eyes meet. And in them, Tim sees they’re finally a team again.


End file.
